War Bride
by Entwinedlove
Summary: Complete. / Rabastan Lestrange saved Hermione's life during the Battle of Hogwarts. Repaying that debt will change her life. (HG/RabL, HG/DM, DM/HG/RabL, some HG/RW) Tags: implied/referenced character death (No major characters), grief/mourning, angst, dating, forced marriage, dub-con
1. Chapter 1

**AN:** I have a tendency to drag my characters through horribly angsty situations that may, can, and will traumatise them emotionally. This is so that they can climb out a changed person on the other side. The situations I put my characters in may include violence, abuse, domestic violence and abuse, sexual coercion, sexual assault, forced marriages, forced pregnancies and the death of loved ones (including pregnancies and children). I often have characters that experience mental illness that may result in the need for counselling. I may use gore as a shock factor at times. I will rate anything that has these sorts of themes as mature but if tagging for one of these situations would reveal a major spoiler, I'm reluctant to do so.

If any of these situations (or others) may trigger you, I do apologise and encourage you to private message me so that I can give you warnings up front. I don't want to upset any of my readers. Fanfiction is something we all indulge in and I believe we should be able to curtail our experiences to things we enjoy. In order to facilitate that, if a story sounds interesting (even as a WIP) but you'd like a more thorough warning of anything that may present itself within the story, please PM me.

* * *

 **Thursday, 7 May 1998**

Hermione's trainers squeaked on the tile floor of the Ministry of Magic's corridors as she walked past the courtrooms and down a half flight of stairs to the holding cells for prisoners. She was alone because Ron and Harry were at the Burrow trying to hold Mrs Weasley together and keep George from doing something horrible in his grief.

Hermione had received the owl from the Ministry earlier that morning. Prisoner #34 claimed she owed him a life debt and he wanted to discuss repayment. Hermione had made the appointment for the early afternoon after she'd fire-called Kingsley to make sure it was legit. It was. While she showered, dressed, and waited for her appointment she ran through a mental list of any Death Eaters who might have saved her life. She could think of only one.

Rabastan Lestrange.

So, in the mood to spite the man, Hermione redressed herself as a muggle instead of the new robes she'd purchased to wear to the funerals. Jeans and a tee were good enough.

Hermione reached the door and was greeted by an Auror on guard duty. She signed the board and checked her wand, Bellatrix's wand, with him. She wasn't allowed to take it into the cell in case the prisoner overpowered her. Hermione didn't want to let it go but understood the policy. She was ushered through the door and led to a door halfway down the corridor. If it hadn't been labelled with a 34, she wouldn't have been able to tell the difference. The solid door looked heavy when the Auror shoved his whole body weight to swing it partially open.

Once inside, she realized that the room was tiny. There were no windows. There was a cot that looked too short for a man of average height and a worn porcelain bowl that she assumed was what passed for the toilet. The space would have been tight with just her, but with Lestrange in the room as well it was downright claustrophobic.

He was sitting cross-legged on the bed against the wall that doubled as a headboard. He was dressed in black and white vertical striped robes that looked used. There was a hint of an Air Freshening Charm but it didn't cover the smell of sweat and unwashed body.

"I'd stand to greet you, Miss Granger, but I'd be worried I'd crowd you," his voice was quiet and smooth, with an aristocratic accent.

She stood in front of the door with her arms crossed. "What did you want to discuss, Lestrange?"

He nodded, seeming to understand that she didn't want to linger over ridiculous small talk. "I saved your life in the battle at Hogwarts. Pulled you away from falling rubble. I'd like to call in that life debt."

Hermione tried not to let her slight confusion cross her face. "Death Eaters are going to be given trials. I don't think I have enough clout to prevent you from getting a Dementor's Kiss if that's what you're asking for."

"No, I'm not asking for that. I've already asked for my barrister. What I want from you is an heir."

Hermione was sure that surprise was written all over her face. "What? No, that's... That's not how life debts work. That twists it all around."

"No, it doesn't. I saved your life and that debt can be repaid by saving my life or that of my progeny. Giving me an heir, creating life with me, will satisfy the debt."

She was speechless. She'd prepared all sorts of different arguments regarding saving his soul from the Kiss or sparing him time in Azkaban, but this—this request—was horrible and there had to be some way, some loophole, to get out of doing it.

Unfortunately, it seemed Lestrange had thought of that. "Life debts are an old magic, like blood and family magic. Debts are beyond the Ministry's scope and there are laws on the books that require the Ministry to enforce compliance when a life debt has been called in."

She shook her head, disbelieving. There had to be something that could be done. There was no way she was going to—to sleep with Rabastan Lestrange—or bear him an heir. No way in hell.

"I understand that you're sceptical," he continued, still calm and quiet and gentle, "so I'll ask you to go to someone you trust in the Ministry. Someone who knows the laws. A pureblood of the Sacred Twenty-Eight would know the basics but an Auror or solicitor of English law will know the details."

"I can't believe you'd ask for something like that. An heir. Aren't you worried about the purity of your precious bloodline?" Hermione snapped. "I'm a Mudblood if you hadn't forgotten."

He didn't flinch. "You're also young, attractive, educated, clever, cunning, ruthless, brave, and a war heroine," he countered. Before she could respond though, he continued, "You also owe me a life debt and that's the trait that matters the most at this juncture."

Hermione bit her tongue and slammed her hand back into the door next to her thigh, unwilling to turn her back on Lestrange until she was sure the Auror guard was there. She refused to say another word to the man sitting on the bed, matted auburn hair framing his stubble covered face. His calm demeanour irritated her.

Once she was free of his cell, free of the stench of his still-battle weathered body, she could finally breathe deeply again. She hardly paid much attention to the guard who gave her wand back and instead stormed down the corridors towards the lift. She had a pureblood Auror-turned-Minister to see.

 *** . * . ***

Hermione stood outside the Minister's office while she waited for the secretary to tell Kingsley she wanted to speak with him. The door opened and the secretary walked out but held the door for her.

"He'll see you now," she said.

Hermione walked in and Kingsley stood to greet her. "Hermione, It's always a pleasure to see you. What can I do for you? You spoke with the prisoner that asked for you?" He gestured for her to sit and she complied, though she really wanted to pace away the anxiety.

"It was Rabastan Lestrange, and yes, he wanted to discuss calling in a life debt I owe him." She took a deep breath, "He said he wanted an heir. But that doesn't make any sense, and I don't see how 'creating life with him' has anything to do with saving his life. It's completely ridiculous and he must be mistaken, life debts don't work that way." She was going to continue her diatribe but when she glanced up and saw Kingsley's face, she stopped. "Do they?" she asked.

He didn't say anything for a moment, just frowned and nodded as he stared at his desktop in thought. "They do work that way. A life debt can be repaid up to and including saving one's life or one's progeny. Seeing as how he doesn't have progeny at the moment, creating life would repay the debt." He finally looked back up at Hermione, "Have you acknowledged the debt then?"

"Acknowledged? What do you mean?"

"The next time you see him, you'll need to formally acknowledge the debt. 'I,' your name, 'recognize that my life is indebted to you,' his name, 'and I acknowledge the debt and will repay it by' and then say a few words describing the repayment. Providing him with an heir or creating life with him would both work. The wording should be specific to the situation. Formally saying it will make it a vow; something he can't change and you can't back out of. This complicates things, though."

"But I don't want to—to have—" she couldn't bring herself to even say the word 'sex' in regards to the unwashed Death Eater downstairs. "Isn't there some way to get out of it? And what sort of complications? Besides ruining my life?"

"Yes, aside from that," Kingsley said, a sardonic smile painting his face. "If I remember correctly there are two laws this situation might invoke. The first of which is that no expectant parent can be incarcerated in Azkaban."

"What? That's ridiculous! And he's not expecting!"

"He's called in a life debt, which means everything—including his trial and incarceration—is put on hold until you conceive."

Hermione ran her hands along her thighs wiping the sweat from her palms. "This can't be happening. Not... Not now, not to us, we haven't even been through all the funerals from the battle yet!" She took another heavy breath and let it out slowly. "What was the second law?"

"Oh, right. I'd have to make sure it's still on the books but it was when I finished the law section of Auror training. Any witch who becomes pregnant who's not in a formal courtship is expected to marry the father of the child, with exceptions for rape or incest. It's one of those pureblood laws that just hasn't been struck from the books because most times it's not an issue."

Hermione wasn't sure if she muffled the sound of her gagging enough that Kingsley didn't notice. He didn't say anything if he did. "That's... That's awful. How can... that's..." Her brain seemed to click into high gear for a moment before she latched onto something missing in that law. "And if the man is already married?"

"Polygamy isn't unheard of in the Wizarding World, just fallen out of practice. I think the most recent two instances of it were the Shafiq family in 1830s—twin sisters and one husband—and Bathilda Bagshot's parents. Mr Bagshot had two wives in the 1870s."

"Back on topic. He, Lestrange, said that the Ministry would enforce..." Hermione redirected the conversation. Although interesting, polygamy among wizards in the 1800s wasn't changing the fact that her life as she knew it was being destroyed.

"Not physically. The Ministry just won't stand in the way of someone collecting a life debt."

"So he could rape me and the Ministry would look the other way? And make me marry him after that?"

Kingsley shook his head. "No, if he raped you, even if he fathered a child on you, the life debt would be erased and the Ministry could prosecute him. He wouldn't do that, it's not in his political best interest."

"Well, maybe I could—what was it?—enter into a formal courtship with Ron," she tried to come up with an alternative that would keep her from having to marry a Death Eater.

"Everything is put on hold until you conceive when he called in that debt. Even if you and Ron got engaged tomorrow and tried to get married, the Ministry would not recognize your courtship and it wouldn't be valid."

"Why don't they teach this sort of thing at Hogwarts? I've never even heard of a formal courtship. And what could the Ministry do if Ron and I got married in a Muggle ceremony?"

"A lot of it is pureblood laws and most purebloods don't even know them. I only know about them because I was interested in law so that was one of the electives I chose in Auror training. With a Muggle ceremony, though? I don't know. I suppose the Ministry would recognize both men as your husbands."

Hermione let her chin fall to her chest as she sighed. "I don't want to get married."

He didn't say anything while she pouted. It wasn't until she sighed again and looked up that he continued the conversation. "I had no idea someone like him would know the old laws; would know when to make his play."

"He was a Slytherin," was the only thing that Hermione offered.

Kingsley's lips twitched like he was suppressing a smile before he added, "Through and through, it seems."

"And if I run?"

"He'd be allowed whatever freedoms he needed to follow you."

Hermione pursed her lips as she thought. "You said he's not allowed to be incarcerated? do you mean he's just played a 'get out of jail free' card?"

"What?"

Hermione winced. "Never mind, muggle thing. How will he be sentenced if...?"

"House arrest for however many years he would have incarcerated in Azkaban."

"For life?" Hermione asked.

"No. We have a different Wizengamot since the first war. Prisoners haven't been sentenced to life since then."

"Is there any way to appeal this? Both the way he's calling in the life debt and having to marry him."

"Not at the moment, the Wizengamot is swamped with all the other trials and they aren't going to want to draw things out like that since they won't be able to have Lestrange's trial until after you're pregnant. They'll see this as a perfectly valid, well thought out legal plan..." he paused and narrowed his eyes, "Unless... How did he save your life? Was it manufactured?"

"What do you mean? Like did he conspire with someone to cast a curse at me and save my life on purpose, specifically for this?"

"Yes, that," Kingsley confirmed.

"No," she shook her head, "Nothing that clear-cut. I was duelling Dolohov near a wall. Ron was nearby duelling Rookwood, I think. One of Ron's spells was reflected off a Shield Charm and hit the wall beside me, causing an explosion. Lestrange grabbed my hand and pulled me out of the way of the falling stone." She had meditated on the memory when she'd learned about Lestrange and the life debt. She had wanted to know exactly what happened; what she'd told Kingsley was the best she could determine.

Kingsley sighed. "Coincidence then, but well thought out all the same." He seemed to just stare at her for a while, looking at something in her eyes or the tight set of her shoulders or her balled up fists in her lap. "Send me an owl when you're ready to meet him again and we'll make sure he's been cleaned up and is in a different room. Something more suitable."

Hermione wanted to crumple in her chair and cry. There was no getting out of this. Somehow, she found the strength to thank Kingsley for his patience and help and made it out to the atrium without falling apart. She sat on a bench and tried to calm herself down. She couldn't travel by Floo to the Burrow yet, as it was still blocked off from the war, so she would have to Apparate.

 *** . * . ***

She didn't fall apart immediately after Apparating. In fact, she made it all the way through dinner later that evening, until Mrs Weasley looked up at her and asked, "What's wrong dear?" That was when she broke. She explained what Lestrange had wanted and what Kingsley had expounded. Harry and Ron had come around and wrapped an arm around her shoulders, trying to help.

"Is it true? Is what Kingsley said true? I'll have to marry the bastard?" she asked, hiccoughing once as she tried to calm herself down.

Mr and Mrs Weasley shared a look and nodded. "I remember a little about life debts from my younger days," Mrs Weasley said, "and I remember that line about progeny. Protecting or creating, both."

"I would have given you a token of affection, started a courtship, but I figured you'd want to date first," Ron said. His eyes looked a little red like he'd scrubbed at them with the heel of his hand. "As a Muggle-born, I didn't think you'd appreciate me declaring I wanted to marry you right now. Not that I was really thinking about all those weird pureblood things Mum and Dad went over ages ago."

"Even if you had of given her a token this last year, you had been in hiding. If no one sees her wearing a token—it's usually jewellery, dear—then it doesn't really count. No one would have recognized the validity of the courtship."

Hermione glanced around at the others still in the room. It seems that George, Percy, Charlie, Bill, and Fleur had slipped from the room. She hoped they'd eaten enough dinner and that her tears and noisy sobs hadn't interrupted their meal.

"I'm sorry, Hermione," Ron whispered in her ear. She laid her head on his shoulder as she slowed her breathing. "Want to move over to the sofa? The floor's not the best thing to keep kneeling on."

She smiled and nodded, sitting back up. She stood but stopped to look at the table. "Do you want help cleaning up Mrs Weasley?"

"Ginny and I will help with the cleaning up, Hermione," Mr Weasley told her, "you go on and relax for a while."

Hermione did just that. Ron sat in the corner of the sofa and she sat between his legs, snuggling down into his chest. He wrapped one arm around her shoulders and back and left the other free. Harry set up the chess table next to him and the two boys sat and played quietly. Hermione felt like she was wrapped in wool. She let her mind wander and float, not really listening to the conversations of the rest of the family or thinking about her situation. There was so much she still needed to do. There were at least three more funerals for members of the Order of the Phoenix. She needed to go get her parents from Australia. She wanted to help with the reconstruction of Hogwarts. She needed to decide what she wanted to do regarding her education and her N.E.W.T.s. And now she also needed to go to a book store or library and do a little research regarding conceiving and pregnancy.

She wouldn't go into this without knowing as much as she could.


	2. Chapter 2

**Tuesday, 2 June 1998**

Hermione was dressed as a muggle again as she made her way through the winding corridors of the Ministry. She had done quite a bit of research at one of the public libraries in London within walking distance of Grimmauld Place. It was easy enough to Apparate to the top step and then walk from there instead of worrying about finding a suitable Aparition point near the library. She didn't feel quite as ignorant about the biology of sex now and felt armed with that knowledge.

There was a different Auror on guard duty when she came to the entrance to the holding cells. "Who are you here to see?" the dark-haired man asked after checking and retaining her wand.

"Prisoner #34," she answered.

"Oh, you must be the missus," he said, he leered at her before turning and escorting her down a different corridor. She wanted to react, to yell at the Auror that she wasn't 'the missus.' She wasn't married to that Death Eater, but she held her tongue. She didn't know how much the guard knew of her situation and didn't want to spread any more of her business around than necessary. She was sure that if Rita Skeeter heard about these visits to the holding cells she'd be sure to spin the story in a way that was the least flattering, the least true, and the most sensational. 

"Here you are, Miss," the Auror said as they approached a heavy door at the end of the short hall. "The conjugal suite," he smirked. "You can leave the room anytime you'd like, but you'd need my assistance to get back in, so make sure you have all your clothes when you leave." He heaved himself against the door to open it before holding it open with his arm. His position made it so that to walk in the room, Hermione would have to practically rub her body against him. She felt her upper lip raise in disgust and decided on the fly to use his misinformation against him.

"If you knew which prisoner is my husband, you wouldn't be attempting to take such liberties with my body," she said in her best impression of Narcissa Malfoy. "You will open this door properly so that I may walk in uninhibited," she demanded.

The guard flushed an unflattering puce and smiled in embarrassment. His teeth were yellow and crooked. "Sorry, Madam," he muttered and held the door wider for her to enter.

The door swinging shut behind her felt like a symbolic prison gate, her own life sentence for deeds done in her youth. She briefly wondered how old Lestrange was when he was first sentenced to Azkaban and if he felt like his life was over. Movement in the room distracted her; Lestrange had stood to greet her. His hair was shorter but clean and untangled and fell around his face in soft waves. It looked more red than brown now and it brought out the paleness of his skin and the colour in his light, green eyes. He was clean shaven and held himself with an air of dignity despite the fact that he was wearing new, grey tracksuit bottoms and a long-sleeved white Henley shirt. He seemed to be smiling, but the look was more in the lines around his eyes than in the shape of his mouth.

"Well played Madam," he spoke, tipping his head towards the door. He didn't approach her and he waited in silence while she took a moment to get the layout of the room. Behind her was the heavy door out to the corridor, against the wall to her right was a large bed with a headboard and a single night stand, across from her was a door leading into a bathroom. There were no windows or other furniture. The bed didn't have a duvet or cover, just a mattress covered in a sheet. There weren't even pillows. Hermione swallowed hard at the uncomfortable feeling looking at the bed provoked.

Once she'd inventoried the room and looked back at Lestrange, he greeted her properly. "Hello, Miss Granger."

She frowned and didn't respond to his greeting except to acknowledge the debt between them as Kingsley had instructed. "I, Hermione Granger, recognize that my life is indebted to you, Rabastan Lestrange, and I acknowledge the debt and will repay it by," she paused still finding the words hard to swallow. "creating life with you." She inhaled sharply when she felt a tingle come over her as if she had stepped under a misting fountain.

Lestrange nodded and he let out a breath he seemed to have been holding. "Where are you in your cycle?"

"Why?" she spat, her anxiety bleeding through as hostility. She felt like her own emotions had just given her whiplash. "Don't want to rape the Mudblood more than once?"

Whatever smile that had been on his face disappeared but his voice remained calm and quiet. "Please don't call yourself that and no, I'm not going to rape you." He paused, giving her a moment to calm herself perhaps, and asked again. "Your cycle?"

"I'm not stupid, I wouldn't have come here if I wasn't able to get pregnant," she said. She had tried to keep the same level of bitterness in her voice but it didn't sound nearly as nasty as her previous statement. He didn't move or say anything, just looked at her imploringly. She caved. "I started my period nine days ago, so I'm at the beginning of my fertility window."

"Good," he said, sounding pleased. "You'll return every day for the next week. Are you a virgin, Miss Granger?"

She wanted to splutter and hide her face but instead answered blandly, "It doesn't matter."

"It does matter because some positions are gentler on the witch when she's taken for the first time."

She breathed deeply to try and remain calm. "Yes."

He nodded. "I know you wouldn't have chosen me as a husband—" he started to say, but paused mid-sentence at Hermione's reaction. It hadn't been intended but she'd felt a sudden wave of nausea and she was sure she'd paled or gone slightly green at the word. He lowered his head in acknowledgement. "Yes, I know about that little law, wife."

"I'm not your wife."

"Not yet; you will be. You used the title well not five minutes ago." He approached her then, three strides of his long legs and he was suddenly in her personal space. He reached up and tentatively touched her jaw with his hand, cradling her face. "As early as next month," he whispered. "You can cry if you need to; I won't think any less of you for it."

His proximity and gentleness made her uncomfortable and she gritted her teeth in anger to hide it. "I won't ever cry in front of you."

He leaned down and kissed her jawline, slowly peppering kisses down her neck and then back up. He followed that same slow path with open-mouthed, wet kisses next. The hand that had cradled her jaw rose and tangled in her hair. He used it to tip her head to the side to allow him better access as he followed that path along her jaw then down and up her neck with nibbling lips and soft licks next. She didn't know when his other hand had come around her shoulder and pressed against her back, bringing her closer to him.

She steeled her back and planted her feet. She refused to let him treat this as a seduction or anything less than it was. Sex because it was required to satisfy a life debt. She stayed stiff in his arms even as he tipped her head the other direction and started his sweet torture again. Soft kisses, wet kisses, and nibbling.

"Are you leaving love bites on me?" she asked him and cursed in her head when her voice sounded more affected than she thought it should.

"No, though I can if you'd like," he murmured.

"No!" she said. She was proud of herself, her voice sounded strong and not at all soft and breathy like it had before.

She could feel him smile against her neck where he was kissing her. He left one last soft kiss on her jaw and backed up a step. He let the hand in her hair slide down her shoulder, down her arm, until he was holding her hand. He turned and tugged her towards the bed. He sat down with his back against the headboard and his legs outstretched. "Come here, wife, sit on my lap."

She didn't want to be that close to him, that intimate a position, but she had jeans on, so she felt protected. She straddled him like he'd told her; he continued to hold one of her hands and with his other, guided her hip. Once over him, she felt the hand on her hip push down with the smallest amount of force, like a suggestion. She eased down on his lap.

He then returned to kissing her jaw, her neck, and the little bit of skin that showed over the neckline of her shirt. She had the faintest thought that she should have worn a turtle-neck. She closed her eyes and let him continue, trying hard not to let her body react to his persistent, gentle kisses. She felt his hands caressing her lightly over her clothes. One on her back the other on her hip, his fingertips moving in slow circles. After a while, the hand on her hip crept higher, his fingers dancing over the curve of one of her breasts. He cupped it and tweaked her nipple through her bra.

She became aware of the soft panting she was doing, the quietest of breathy sounds in the otherwise silent room. When he made to move to her other breast and that side of her neck, her head lolled, giving him access. She knew in her mind that this wasn't how she wanted things to go but she had no idea being touched like this would feel so good. He lightly pinched both her nipples at once and she rocked her hips as a feeling of want and need swept through her. He stopped the kisses and she felt his head fall back to the headboard. She opened her weighted lids a crack to peek at him. That almost-smile was back on his face. She rocked her hips again and felt his own flex under her.

His hands moved to the hem of her shirt and pulled it up and over her head. She raised her arms to let him. Before it had even landed on the floor where he tossed it, he had moved to her bra and unlatched it, exposing her to his gaze. She brought her hands up to cover herself but he pulled them away and flexed his hips under her. A moan slipped from her lips.

She didn't understand what was happening to her. Her head felt heavy and full of cotton, her thoughts easily scattered and lost. Her eyelids felt weighted and her skin felt oversensitive. Her breath wasn't as steady as she felt it should be and she felt hot all over. When his hands reached for the button and zip of her jeans, she leaned back to let him undress her. It wasn't supposed to be like this. She wasn't supposed to like it or enjoy it. This was supposed to be sex with a single purpose and she was supposed to just lay back and think of England.

She fell back on the bed and off his lap and he followed her, tugging her jeans from her hips and taking her knickers with them. When she was completely bare he sat back and pulled his cock from his tracksuit bottoms, but didn't undress. "Come back up here," he said softly and reached out to help her back over his lap. 

She felt some of her thoughts come back. Her anxiety trickling back into awareness. Naked over his lap, she held herself over him.

"I think you know what happens next," he murmured into her chest. She could feel the wet heat of his breath on her skin and it puckered her nipple. He slid his fingers from her hip to the apex of her thighs and slowly moved them through the wetness he found there. "You're in charge of how fast or slow you lose your maidenhead." His words seemed to bring more awareness back into her and she tightened her thighs when she realized the position she was in. "Exactly," he said in response to her tensed legs. "You are in control in this position but I'll help you if you want."

He continued rubbing her sex and it felt so good. She whimpered, knowing in her head she didn't want to do this but realising he'd got her body ready and wanting. Was this betrayal? When one's body and mind weren't in accord? She didn't know. All she knew was that he seemed to be waiting on her. She felt his hands on her hips and the hot rounded tip of his cock nudging at her opening.

She felt as if it were someone else in control of her body as she started to lower herself down on his lap. He'd lined himself up so his cock would slide right into her.

"Good girl, that's it. Slowly come down," he whispered. She listened to his instruction, feeling his cock press against her, into her. She whimpered again. He continued his instruction with quiet words of encouragement and praise. She stopped. She reached out and grabbed onto his shoulders hard, squeezing her fingers into his shirt and skin to keep herself from going any further. There was a flash of fear down her spine at what she was doing, at the fact that it was her doing it rather than him doing it to her. She didn't like the way that sounded in her mind and she panicked. She tried to pull back, to raise her hips, to get off and away from him.

His hands clamped down on her hips and held her still. "No, no, you're already so close, sweetheart."

"I can't, I can't..." Her words sounded wet.

He leaned forward and pressed a kiss on her cheek, getting her to look up at his face. "Do you want me to do it, then?" he asked.

She whimpered, but it sounded suspiciously more like a sob than she intended.

He nodded and she could feel his grip on her hips change. He moved slowly, raising his hips up to meet hers, sliding up just as slowly as she had been sliding down. It seemed to take forever for him to press against her fully and Hermione kept expecting to feel sharp, stabbing pain and she tensed, waiting for it. Even the books she'd read in the library said there would be pain for her first time.

"Now relax your legs, sweetheart, and we'll ease back down onto the bed together," he instructed softly. She did, moving with him to settle on his lap. She felt stretched and awkward, full in a way. It was disconcerting. His hands moved from her hips back up her sides and to her breasts, caressing her skin. Hermione took a deep breath, still anticipating pain. When there wasn't any, she breathed deeply again. Why wasn't there any pain? Wasn't there suppose to be?

"It doesn't hurt," she muttered, not really to him.

"Good, I'm glad," he responded. She could feel the muscles of his lower body tense and release and it seemed to make his cock move inside of her, but he didn't actually move. He continued caressing her skin and soon he leaned forward and captured a nipple in his mouth to suckle at her. She noticed his body tense and relax repeatedly, but he still didn't move. After giving attention to both of her breasts he brought his kisses back up her neck, her jaw, and then her cheeks. Were her cheeks wet? He kissed her temple and over one eyelid and then the other. She reached up and touched her cheek; it were wet. Had she cried? 

Before she could put any more thought to that, he finally did something. He spoke. "Ready?" He didn't wait for an answer. He put his hands back on her hips and pushed, guiding her to move over his lap in a slow back-and-forth motion. She was expecting a straight in-and-out motion like she'd read about. Instead, she seemed to be grinding on his lap. She was surprised at how pleasant it felt. She lost herself in the rocking, forwards and back. Each forward motion sent a spike of pleasure through her. She closed her eyes and kept a steady rhythm because that's what felt best. She didn't know how long they continued this way but at some point, she realized that his hands weren't guiding her any more and he was using his grip on her to raise himself up into her as she rocked forward. 

In her mind, she likened the sensations she was feeling to climbing. Up and up. Whether it was stairs or a cliff face or just rising on a broom, she didn't know or care. Just higher and higher. She didn't know when she started mumbling but the sound of her own voice seemed to echo in her ears, "Only a little more, only... again, yes. Again. Yes, yes, yes..." Her world went white and she shouted as pleasure crashed over her and she plunged down from the invisible high she'd crafted in her mind. When she became aware of her surroundings again, she heard her own gasps and moans. She was still on his lap and they'd both stopped moving for the moment. He kissed her neck and shoulder with open-mouthed kisses and looked at her face. That almost-smile was back.

He pressed up into her, starting a quicker pace than she had set previously. She leaned back and whimpered because everything felt more sensitive than before.

"Shh," he whispered, "You're okay. That felt nice, didn't it?" he murmured the words but didn't stop his rhythm. Hermione whined, unsure of what she wanted to articulate. "Sit up just a bit," he said, guiding her to hold herself off of him to give him more room to move. He wrapped his arms around her, pressing her chest against his, and started thrusting into her harder and faster.

She made a noise somewhere between a moan and a yelp and he continued; the crash of sensations of his faster movement overwhelming her. It didn't take him long before he groaned in her ear, the sound giving her satisfaction in a way she didn't understand. She felt his cock throb and pulse inside of her and the bizarre feeling of his ejaculate squirting from him as he thrust particularly deep one last time. She sat on his lap, wondering what was supposed to happen next. He held her close to him, his panting breath ghosting over her temple caused her hair to tickle her ear. He pressed kisses to her neck and shoulder, breathing deeply with his nose buried in her hair. She could feel the heat of his skin through his shirt.

"Hermione?"

Her name in Rabastan Lestrange's voice roused her the rest of the way from her lust and orgasm induced haze. She didn't know what he was asking or even if he continued to talk, all she knew was the panic inside her. She wanted—no needed—to get away from him; to leave and never come back. She hated him. She hated that he made her feel so good, hated that she had forgotten just who and what he was.

She jerked away from him, falling backwards and crab-crawled off of him. She looked around in a rush, grabbing her clothes and redressing as fast as she could. She didn't even put her bra back on, just shoved it in her jeans pocket and fled the room.

 *** . * . ***

Hermione didn't even realize she had run past the Auror on duty until she'd made it to the atrium. She decided to use the Floo to go to Grimmauld Place instead of Apparate and would deal with getting her wand back later.

She stumbled out of the parlour fireplace and landed on her knees. "Hermione?" Harry asked, shocked at her sudden appearance. She looked up when he called her name. He was sitting on the sofa. She crawled over to him and climbed up next to him before the tears started. "Shh, it's okay, Hermione, it's going to be okay," he tried to soothe her. He wrapped his arms around her and held her close while she sobbed.

After a while, she was finally able to talk past the tears. "He made me like it, Harry."

"Lestrange, you mean?" he asked. He had rested his cheek against the top of her head and she could feel his jaw move as he spoke.

"Yeah. It was awful."

"I'm confused," he confessed. "I thought you just... Oh, you mean it was awful _because_ he made you like it, right?"

She nodded. "I left Bellatrix's wand at the Auror's desk."

He pulled her away from him to look down at her face. "A month after the biggest battle of our lives and you left your wand behind?"

She shrugged, feeling ashamed. "I know, really, I know, but," she swallowed thickly and grimaced.

"Here, let's get you a cup of tea and then I'll go get that wand. And then we're going to go see Ollivander to get you a new one, that's all yours. I still can't believe you haven't gone sometime in the last month." He helped her to stand and then lead the way down the stairs to the basement kitchen. The house was quiet and Hermione wondered what Harry had been doing just sitting in the parlour. She sat at the table where he gestured and waited while he made the tea the Muggle way. They sat in the quiet, sipping tea, each content to just take comfort in the others' company.

"I'm scared, Harry," she finally found her voice. She settled her teacup down on the table and looked up at him.

He was looking at her with narrowed eyes as if trying to see inside her head. It wasn't the first time he'd looked at her like that, but it made her feel uncomfortable under his scrutinizing look. "Why?" he asked.

"Why? Because—because Rabastan Lestrange! That's why!"

"But that's not really it, is it? He doesn't have a wand. I suppose he could physically attack you, but you said Kingsley said it would ruin his chance at getting out of Azkaban. Yeah, I get that he's a Death Eater but he's been defanged." 

"You don't get it Harry!" she snapped.

"Then explain it to me," he argued back. "Actually, this time let me try explaining to you since you always do it for me. He makes you feel vulnerable. He makes you feel weak. He's older than us, maybe he made you—you know, fall apart—and you let your guard down. Just because you get naked with him and have to have his kid doesn't mean you have to give him your heart. He can't hurt you like that unless you let him. And if you don't want to let him, then don't."

"But you don't understand!"

He just looked at her and raised his eyebrows.

Hermione stopped arguing and thought about what he was telling her. "Do you understand? Have you and Ginny...?"

He looked down at the table and nodded. "It's Ginny. I trust her. I love her. Didn't make it any difference; I still felt vulnerable, and weak, and incompe-and other things," he coughed to try and hide the flush creeping up his neck. "I let my guard down. It feels wrong to let your guard down when we've been on edge for so long. I'm hoping things will get better the farther we get from the war." He looked back up at her. "So yeah, I understand why you're scared, but I also know that you don't have to be. You don't have to open yourself up to him emotionally, it's not like you're dating the bloke." He grinned at her.

She rolled her eyes and grinned back. "Okay, okay. I think I get it. Let's go get me a wand."


	3. Chapter 3

**Thursday, 4 June 1998**

As Hermione checked her new wand with yet another different Auror guard she wondered if Kingsley had set it up this way on purpose to give her privacy. If each guard only saw one or two visitors a day there might be no mention of her, but if the same guard saw her show up repeatedly, especially for the same prisoner in the—in that suite—there would definitely be gossip.

Now that the war was over, the Daily Prophet and many of the sensational periodicals, like Witch Weekly, were beginning to hound Harry for interviews, photographs, and private details that would sell more copies which mean that she and Ron were being given attention too. If they got wind of this, she was sure her reputation would be shot. Not that she really cared what the public thought about her but it did have some perks. Ollivander had offered her a new wand for free, Flourish and Blotts asked if she'd like to be notified when new books arrived and given the chance to buy a copy before they went on shelves, and even Madam Malkin had given her a discount for the several new sets of robes she'd gone to get last month. Of course, Hermione had been with Harry in all of those places. It was quite possible that once alone she wouldn't be recognized at all. She wasn't sure how she felt about that; she wanted to be recognized for her part in the war but she didn't want the press running malicious lies about her which seemed to make up the bulk of the headline articles.

She walked into the suite and the door slammed behind her. Lestrange had stood to greet her again. His hair was damp like he'd been in the shower recently but it was still wispy around his face.

"You were supposed to return to me yesterday. I was disappointed when you didn't," he said. There was something else to his tone, something that hinted at anger. She had promised to fulfil the life debt and her refusal to come back might have provoked him. He didn't hold himself like he was angry, though. His shoulders weren't tense, his jaw was relaxed. Hermione wasn't sure what he expected her to say but she wasn't going to give him her reasons for not showing up.

"Do you want an indoor or outdoor wedding?" He asked when she made no move to reply to his statement. "The grounds of Lestrange Estate are beautiful this time of year but there's a chapel if you'd prefer."

Hermione gritted her teeth. Wedding talk? Really? She didn't want to even think about marrying him and she still hadn't got a hold of the particular law books in question to look for any loopholes. Over the last month, she'd spent most of her time researching sex and pregnancy. There were only so many hours in the day, after all.

He continued in a conversational tone. "You should see Madam Hilliard at Twilfitt and Tattings to select the design of your gown. And decide on flowers, there's a rose garden on grounds, but anything else can be ordered. I may not be a Malfoy but the wedding of your dreams won't bankrupt me."

It was the 'wedding of her dreams' comment that irritated her enough to reply. "If you expect me to go through a farce of a wedding, I'll wear black."

"Surely you didn't dream of wearing black to your own wedding as a young girl, did you?"

"I didn't dream I'd be marrying you, either."

There was a glint of cruelty in his eyes. "The red hair not orange enough for you?" he taunted. It was the first time his voice sounded anything other than calm or quiet or gentle. "Or were you hoping for black?"

It was obvious he was talking about Ron and Harry. Harry. She remembered Harry's words about letting Lestrange hurt her and refused to give the Death Eater ammunition. She took a breath to calm herself. "We'll sign the marriage certificate here at the Ministry. I'm not having a wedding with you."

"I'm going to take you from behind today," he said. The abrupt subject change and the matter-of-fact way he said it caused a shiver to run down her spine. He walked to her and around her, pulling her hair off her neck. Before he started his attack of kisses he spoke. "I suspect it was the intimacy of being face-to-face with me last time that had you running off like you did. Coming into you from behind should make it easier for you."

"Isn't there a spell that can make my body ready for you? Without having to..." she trailed off and gestured with a flip of her hand to her neck and where his mouth hovered right over her skin.

"Do you have a wand on you?"

"No."

"Neither do I. We'll just have to do it the normal way," he said, sounding smug.

He kissed her neck in that same attack pattern he had before, soft, wet, nibbling. His hand caressed her over her clothes, rubbing, pinching, teasing. With Harry's advice in mind, Hermione let herself get lost in the sensations.

Lestrange walked her forward until she was closer to the bed as he undressed her. He didn't manoeuvre her on top of it though. He nudged at her ankle with a sock-clad foot and she spread her legs a bit. He returned to his kisses and caresses, leaving her feeling a bit exposed. He reached down and ran his fingers through her sex, spreading around the wetness gathering at her opening. He pressed rhythmically on her clit, soft feather-light touches at first but gradually gaining pressure. Hermione could imagine the broom, bringing her higher and higher, except he stopped and pushed her hips to get her to move onto the bed. She grunted at him in displeasure since she didn't think she could articulate at the moment.

Once on the bed, she noticed that there were pillows and crawled over and hugged one. She was so hot and needy feeling she left her hips in the air almost hoping he would keep touching her if only because she desperately wanted to come. She felt him situate himself behind her. Felt the hot, hard flesh of his cock against her bum, but he didn't enter her. Instead, he brought his hand back to her clit and started up his rhythmic touches again. Maddeningly soft, gradually harder. Soon the mental imagery was back, her on a broom rising higher and higher.

As the tension got higher, Hermione gave herself permission to make noise, not that she needed it. She'd been gasping and moaning and whimpering already. She felt so silly and so wanton if she listened to herself, but she didn't think she could stop if she wanted to. Her orgasm crashed over her and her imagined broom swooped down suddenly and sharply. The walls of her vagina were still spasming when he slid his cock into her and her body clamped down on him, prolonging her pleasure.

His groan of appreciation made her smile into the pillow. He gave her a moment or two to get used to his intrusion but then he was moving. Repeatedly sliding into her in quick motions but retreating with a lazy drag. The change in stimulation felt delightful. He held her hips and then pressed his thumbs forward into her back. She tilted her hips down, the way he indicated, which arched her back and yelped when he went deeper than before.

She heard a masculine chuckle from behind her and couldn't help the yelping and moaning that followed as he stroked deeply again and again. The scratchy texture of his tracksuit bottoms added to the overload of sensations as he brought his hips all the way against her. Had he not undressed again? She didn't particularly care; it might just make things awkward if she had to see him completely bare too.

With a deep moan, his hips seemed to stutter in their rhythm and he pulled back enough for her to feel the throbbing of his cock at her entrance. He pushed back in slowly and deeply one last time before pulling away from her completely. His hands manoeuvred her until she was laying on her back with hips and feet propped up on the pillows. He shocked her by righting his clothes and laying down beside her, wrapping his body around her. She turned her face away from him wishing she could have dressed. She could feel his breath on her neck and his hand on her lower abdomen, fingers rubbing gentle circles on her skin. Hermione closed her eyes.

She had felt fine and not embarrassed until she saw his face again. It was much easier to imagine he was a kind, sweet lover than the Death Eater he was. She didn't know if it was Harry's advice or Lestrange's idea but she had to admit that she didn't feel nearly as vulnerable with him behind her.

Hermione's eyes snapped open a few minutes later when Lestrange touched her jaw to tilt her head towards him. She worried what it might have looked like, her dozing in his arms, but he was smiling when she looked at his face. It was the first time Hermione had ever seen him truly smile and a tiny voice in the back of her mind whispered that he looked very handsome. He leaned forward and kissed the tip of her nose. "You can dress now," he whispered. She felt that moment of vulnerability again and off-balance as she rolled away from him and gathered her clothes. She dressed without rushing and didn't turn to look at him as she left. "Until tomorrow, my bride," he called after her. She wasn't sure if he meant it in some weird form of affection or sarcastically to spite her from their earlier conversation.

 *** . * . ***

 **Monday, 8 June 1998**

Hermione had returned to the Ministry holding cells three more times. Three different Aurors on duty. And three more times, Lestrange took her from behind making sure she got an orgasm each time. It was finally the last day of the fertility window in her cycle. If she got pregnant sometime this week she wouldn't have to endure Lestrange's touch again. Hermione wasn't sure how she felt about that. On one hand, it was a good thing. He was a Death Eater and a criminal and a bad person. On the other, she wondered what a continued physical relationship with him might be like. She had enjoyed his touch and the way he made her enjoy flying—if only through an exercise in her mind.

Hermione was used to his manner of standing to greet her when she entered the room. She was shocked when he approached her quickly and brought his mouth down on hers. It took her a moment to realise he was attempting to kiss her before she jerked her head back and took a step away from him. She didn't know why but she felt violated that he had tried to kiss her on the mouth.

"No, you don't get that," she said.

He nodded and the almost-smile he usually greeted her with was absent. He grabbed her hand and tugged her closer to the bed but didn't get on it yet. He kissed on her neck and shoulders, her jawline. His normal smooth and seductive manner was missing. He seemed rushed as he tried to get her ready to receive him. His caresses were rougher, his nibbling just a bit harder. By the time he undressed her, however, he had slowed back down. His touches were still a bit more forceful than they had been, but Hermione didn't mind. They felt pleasant. Almost as if he couldn't wait to be inside of her, like he desperately needed her.

Once undressed, Hermione crawled onto the bed of her own volition and reached for a pillow to hold. "On your back, sweetheart, I want you to face me today," he said. She frowned. The last three days in his presence had been quieter than she realised. He hadn't really spoken to her at all. She complied with his request and flipped over, watching him with narrowed eyes. He kept eye contact with her as he undressed for the first time in front of her. First his shirt, tugged from the bottom and up over his head, leaving it inside-out, then his tracksuit bottoms over his hips. He bent slightly to tug off his socks with each trouser leg. He crawled up the bed towards her, still staring intently into her eyes.

She didn't realise what he was about to do until he lowered himself between her legs and licked at her inner thigh. The sensation was so foreign her eyes slammed shut and she tried to close her legs together, but his hands on her knees kept her from boxing his ears.

"What are you doing?" she asked, voice raised in an almost-shout. Mostly shock, she told herself.

The image of his lovely, light green eyes looking at her over her groomed pubic hair would be burned into her memory forever. "Tasting you," he said. She could feel the hot air of his breath ghosting over her wet lower lips. So close. Too close. This felt more intimate than anything else he'd done to her and it made her uncomfortable.

"No," she said, censoring the 'please' on her tongue. She wiggled backwards to get away from him and he followed her, "stop."

He raised himself up away from her and pierced her with his gaze. "And why would I stop?"

It seemed rather obvious to Hermione but she said it anyway. "I don't want you doing that to me."

His jaw clenched and she could see his throat twitch as he swallowed. "Fine," he muttered. He grabbed her legs under her knees and pulled her down the bed to him. He laid over her and without any more preparation, not that she needed any, he pushed inside of her. His mouth came down to her collarbone, kissing and sucking on her skin as he moved hard and fast into her. He gripped her hip with one hand and slid the other underneath her head and braced against her shoulders so he was resting on his elbow above her. The position made their chests touch and Hermione could feel his sparse chest hair against her breasts.

The suckling of his mouth moved from her collarbone to her shoulder and then to her neck. She could hear his heavy panting in her ear punctuated with his grunting efforts. Although the penetration felt pleasant and his body so close to hers allowed her some clitoral stimulation it wasn't enough to bring her off.

He groaned loudly by her ear as he spent himself inside of her. He leaned up bracing himself with his arms next to her face, pressing himself deeper. His Dark Mark was on display right in front of her eyes, taunting her, reminding her that she had been fucked by a Death Eater. That she would have to have a Death Eater's child. That she would most probably have to marry him.

Hermione promised herself she wouldn't forget what he was.

He pulled away from her. When she made to roll over and climb from the bed he grabbed her hip and pulled her back flat. He grabbed the two pillows and waited. She sighed and raised her hips for him to slide the pillow under her and he did the same to her feet. That normally meant things were over. Was he not going to give her an orgasm? It hadn't been the first time he'd finished before her but normally his fingers would find her clit and she'd get her own broom ride before he'd elevate her hips and cuddle her.

He climbed off the bed and stood beside it. "Stay like that for ten minutes," he said and then walked into the bathroom. The sound of the shower starting confirmed her thoughts. No orgasm, no cuddling. Was this punishment for not letting him kiss her or eat her out? She hated herself for feeling disappointed. She shouldn't be. Quick and to the point had been what she was expecting that first day. For him to take his pleasure and leave her alone. Now that he had she felt confused and upset. She lay with her hips propped up for a few minutes, but not the full ten. She dressed quickly and left before the shower stopped. She didn't want to face him with her emotions all tied in knots over his behaviour.


	4. Chapter 4

**Monday, 6 July 1998**

Hermione had been pissed when she got home after her last visit to Lestrange. He'd left dark red love bites on her neck and collarbone. She spent the next week hiding at Grimmauld Place so no one would see them as she waited for them to fade from red to a deep purple to pale pink. When she got her period two weeks later she felt all tied in knots again. At first, she thought she was disappointed but then she didn't know why she felt that way so she'd become frustrated. She didn't want to be pregnant, right? But that meant she'd have to go back to the Ministry for another week of sex and she didn't want to do that either.

She didn't want to see Lestrange or hear about him or think about him at all. He didn't fit into any of the predetermined categories in her mind and his complexity irritated her. Why couldn't she label him properly? 'Caring', 'calm', and 'quiet' weren't terms that fit in her mind with the label Death Eater. She even wanted to add 'gentle' to the list at one point. That last day of sex had been rougher than before but he hadn't hurt her. So 'gentle' was tacked on the list and so was 'handsome' even though she didn't want to admit it to herself. She decided she wasn't going to think about him and she didn't.

Eight days after she got her period, there was an owl from the Ministry requesting her attendance at Lestrange's trial. So they'd gone ahead and scheduled his trial even though she wasn't pregnant. She had shrugged and asked Harry and Ron if they would come with her.

Now, a week later, she was dressed in royal blue professional robes with Harry and Ron on either side of her. They were sitting in one of the smaller courtrooms waiting for Lestrange's trial to begin.

He was escorted out by one of the Aurors she recognized as a guard and led to the chair in the centre of the room in front of the dais. He walked in with his head held high and his eyes searched the sparsely populated visitor's section until they landed on her. He didn't look as bad as he did that first day she'd met him but he didn't look particularly clean either. His hair was lank and greasy and the black and white prison robes were the worn set she'd seen him in originally.

Ron leaned closer to her and whispered in her ear, "Did they clean him up before you had to...?" She turned her head enough to look at Ron's face; the look he was giving the Death Eater on the floor was a cross between grossed out and angry. Hermione looked at Lestrange and his gaze met hers. The look in his eyes was heated, predatory in a way that made Hermione squirm in her seat.

Lestrange turned and sat stiffly in the chair meant for the accused. From where they were in the visitor's gallery, they could still see his profile. The enchanted chains on the chair snaked up and wrapped around his wrists and ankles. The Wizengamot entered then, violet robed witches and wizards but most were grey-headed and male; Hermione wondered if the gender disparity was reflected in their decision-making. The Head of the Department of Magical Law Enforcement, previously the Head of the Auror Department, Gawain Robards, stood and began the trial.

"We are gathered today to hear evidence against the dark wizard Rabastan Lestrange. I see you have a spokesperson here. For court records, please state your name, sir, and your reason for being present," Robards said.

The man standing near Lestrange's chair stepped forward, blocking Hermione's view momentarily. He wore a neatly pressed suit in grey pinstripes. He looked like a Muggle businessman. When he spoke, it was loud and clear and with the slightest of French accents. "My name is Léon Maurier and I'm here to present Mr Lestrange's defence. What are the charges against him?"

Robards answered, "Rabastan Lestrange is charged with being a Death Eater, twice escaping Azkaban with assistance, breaking and entering into the Department of Mysteries within the Ministry of Magic, general Death Eater activities, and fighting in the final battle at Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry."

Maurier didn't wait for acknowledgement, he started right in on defending his client. "Mr Lestrange was sixteen at the time he was branded with the Dark Mark under coercion of his father and elder brother. He was also previously tried and convicted of taking the Mark even though he was underage. Therefore, the charge of being a Death Eater is redundant, I would see is struck from the list." He walked in front of Lestrange's chair, crossing to the other side of the space to give the Wizengamot a moment to respond.

When all Robards did was nod to his court scribe, Maurier continued, "The first time he escaped Azkaban he had been tried with three others and the sentence had been for life. This esteemed body has since claimed that life in Azkaban, even for murder, is inhumane. Seeing as how any person still within their right mind would attempt any and all ways of fleeing the horrific effects of long-term Dementor exposure to protect their mind and soul, escape from Azkaban with assistance is an act of self-preservation; Statues of Justice 1752, Section Self-Preservation, Paragraphs 198 to 215. I would see it struck from the list."

There were whispers from the visitor's section and Hermione felt her insides churn as she listened to the well-spoken gentlemen defend the Death Eater. Sixteen. He was branded at sixteen under coercion, not unlike Malfoy in that regard. Hermione hushed her thoughts as the barrister spoke again.

"Mr Lestrange was remanded to Azkaban without trial or conviction as punishment for breaking and entering the Department of Mysteries, despite this esteemed body's claim at giving all persons within its jurisdiction fair and judicial treatment. Escaping from a prison sentence that was not formally given at trial is permissible by law, Statues of Justice 1879, Amendments to Section Penance and Self-Preservation, Paragraphs 334 to 341. I would have it struck from the list."

Hermione couldn't seem to get enough air into her lungs. Her ears rang and her head felt heavy and full of wool. It wasn't until she felt heat from both Harry and Ron's hand on her back, rubbing soothing circles against the fabric of her robes that she could catch her breath. She could still hear whispering as the Wizengamot leaned together, discussing what Lestrange's barrister had declared.

Robards straightened back to a sitting position and said to the chamber, "The first three charges are dropped; he is still charged with breaking and entering the Department of Mysteries, general Death Eater activities, and fighting in the final battle at Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry on the side of the dark wizard known as He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named."

Maurier nodded once and took a moment to look at the members of the Wizengamot and then he turned and looked at the visitor's section. Hermione glanced around. There were about two dozen people here, much fewer than some of the other Death Eaters trials. Several seats to her right and one row down she saw the white-blond hair of Draco Malfoy and she wondered why he was there. Maurier's voice brought Hermione's attention back to the trial. "What exactly are 'Death Eater activities'?" he questioned, "Tea with Lord Voldemort?" The dozens of simultaneous flinches and gasps seemed to be the response he was going for. Hermione noticed that neither Maurier nor Lestrange flinched. "Is there any evidence that my client, Rabastan Lestrange, ever committed whatever these unnamed activities were? Aside from the Mark on his arm for which he has already punished."

Hermione realized the Wizengamot's mistake then and by the look in Robards's eyes, he did too. By using generalized terms the court had thought to cover any and all of the behaviours associated with Death Eaters. Maurier was going to use those generalized terms to say that the 'Death Eater activities' could have been anything and therefore nothing. There didn't seem to be any evidence specifically against Lestrange. Probably because those Aurors that did fight or witness 'Death Eater activities' could only claim that persons wearing black robes and frightening silver masks were the perpetrators. It was the same charges they'd used against most of the others. But most of the others didn't have a barrister. Voldemort himself could have got off with a good barrister under these flimsy charges.

"He's going to get off, he's going to walk," Hermione whispered, mainly to herself.

Ron leaned closer to her and kissed her on the temple. "He's not. He's not," he whispered but he didn't sound convinced of it himself.

"As there is no specific evidence laid forth to expound on any activities Mr Lestrange may have committed under the guise of 'Death Eater activities,' I would see it struck from the list."

There was a shout from the visitor's section high up behind Hermione and loud grumblings. "He tortured my nephew Frank until he went insane! Lestrange should be rotting in the ground! Dementor's kiss! I demand the Dementor's kiss for justice for our Frank!" It took a moment for Hermione to realize that whoever was shouting from the seats behind her was related to Neville.

Robards stood and made to shout when another voice from the Wizengamot, an elderly woman, spoke over him. "Sit down, Algie." She said it with a sigh as if his behaviour was normal and she'd grown tired of it.

"Do right by your cousin, Enid," he shouted back at her, "Or I'll have you disowned."

"Sit down, Algie!"

And he did. There were still loud whispers both in the visitor's section and amongst the Wizengamot but nothing else was said. When the noise quieted down into silence, Maurier moved, angling himself so he could see Hermione, Lestrange, and Robards.

"Does your client have a convenient old law that will get him out of the breaking and entering charge, as well?" Robards asked, sounding bitter and sarcastic.

"Only that a number of children and other adults also broke into the Ministry that night and have not been charged on similar terms."

Robards's eyes shifted to look behind him at several Wizengamot members before he looked back down at Maurier. "So noted," he said dryly. "Rabastan Lestrange was at the final battle." He gave Maurier a look as if he were daring the barrister to deny it.

He didn't. "Yes. Where he saved the life of Hermione Granger, his fiancée and the mother of his unborn child," Maurier said, glancing up to Hermione. She felt sick when the whispers broke out again. She even saw Malfoy turn in his seat to look directly at her, eyes wide in shock.

"He was wearing Death Eater robes. That's what he was wearing when we arrested him." Robards pointed out.

"Indeed," Maurier agreed. "You have his wand, do you not?"

"We do."

"Would you be willing to allow a trained Auror to cast the Reverse Spell to see what his last ten or fifteen spells were?"

The members of the Wizengamot looked at one another and spoke quietly. There were nods all around. "We'll allow it." Robards gestured to an Auror near the door, and a few minutes passed before he returned carrying the wand wrapped in fabric as if it were disgusting to the touch. "I'll do it," Robards said and the Auror passed the wand up to Robards's outstretched hand. He unwrapped the small bundle to find two wands instead of one. He held the lighter coloured one aloft. "Lestrange, is this your wand?"

"Yes."

Robards then set it on top of his desk where everyone could see it and, using his own wand, cast, " _Prior Incantato_ ," to see the history of spells Lestrange had cast. A golden light seemed to crawl out of the tip of the wand, rise several inches above it, and form into a shield. "Protego," he said. Hermione's mind filled in the definition and use. _A low-level shield charm that lessons the effects of a spell or curse, not recommended for use against Dark Magic._

A second slightly differently looking shield crawled out and formed. "Vorso." _A more powerful, reflective shield, meant to send a spell back towards an opponent. Aimed properly it could strike a target other than the original opponent. Useful when fighting multiple opponents._

The light crept from the wand tip and formed a circle. "Finite Incantatem." _A general counter-spell._ The light formed a shield again. "Protego." _  
_

This time the light came out of the wand in twists, like a rope. "Incarcerous." _A spell used to bind a target with thin or thick ropes depending on intent._

The light formed the shape of a hand first balled in a fist then opening with all fingers spread wide. "Expelliarmus." _A defensive spell which forces the target to release whatever is held; usually used to disarm an opponent of their wand.  
_

The light formed a square. "Petrificus Totalus." _A full-body paralysis spell. The target is still capable of detecting sight, sound, scent, and touch._

"Vorso. Vorso. Stupify." _A charm that renders a target unconscious.  
_

"Protego. Protego. Vorso. Protego." A quick beam of light moved straight upwards from the wand before blinking out of existence. "Apparition."

"That's fifteen, Auror Robards," Maurier said.

Robards cancelled the Priori spell. He sighed and leaned back against his high-backed chair.

"As you can see," Maurier said, "it looks more like he's trying to protect himself or someone else rather than proactively trying to hurt anyone."

"Who was it that he bound and disarmed?" another Wizengamot member asked.

Maurier walked closer to Lestrange and leaned down to hear him speak. He nodded and Lestrange answered. "My brother, Rodolphus Lestrange."

The whispers started up again and the Robarts waved the Auror that had gone to get the wands up to whisper at him to confirm something. After he stepped back Robards verbally confirmed it. "We did find Rodolphus Lestrange bound and disarmed underneath a pile of rubble on the far side of the castle. We assumed he died because of the wall collapsing."

There were no whispers. Even from the distance Lestrange's chair was from Hermione, she watched as his eyes closed tightly and he lowered his head. It was the first time throughout the proceedings that he'd shown anything other than calm disinterest. When his shoulders began to shake in silent sobs, Hermione heard Ron swallow thickly beside her. He was probably feeling some empathy for Lestrange, seeing as how he knew how it felt to lose a brother.

"I call for a recess," Maurier said sharply, "My client had no idea his brother had perished in the battle and needs a moment to gather himself."

"No," Robards said.

Hermione saw Maurier's jaw clench and release.

"We'll call the verdict and sentencing now."

Everyone seemed to pause and wait for Lestrange to look up at him to receive his verdict. Hermione watched his chest rise and fall three times before he raised his head. His cheeks glistened in the flicker of the oil lamps lighting the chamber and his eyes were red. She watched him swallow.

"All in favour of convicting Rabastan Lestrange of breaking and entering the Department of Mysteries?" A number of Wizengamot members raised their hands. Robards and his court scribe both counted. Hermione could see the top of a long white quill twitch as Robards wrote something on a piece of parchment. "All in favour of convicting Rabastan Lestrange of attending the final battle at Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry on the side of He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named and his Death Eaters?" About half of the members raised their hands. When the count was finished the scribe stood and whispered his count in Robards's ear to confirm the numbers.

"The Wizengamot rules that Rabastan Lestrange is convicted of breaking and entering the Department of Mysteries and that he was a Death Eater in the army of He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named when said dark wizard laid siege to Hogwarts Castle. The breaking and entering charge carries a sentence of three years. Being in the Death Eater army and attacking a school carries a sentence of ten years. With evidence that Lestrange at no point attempted to harm, maim, or kill another individual that sentence is dropped to seven. On these convictions, this esteemed body sentences Lestrange to ten years in Azkaban, but for the fact that he is an expecting parent, his sentence is commuted to five years already served and five years of house arrest. Does Lestrange have a house in which this sentence is feasible?"

Maurier nodded almost to himself before speaking. "Yes, Rabastan Lestrange, now the sole heir of the late Randolph Lestrange, will reside at Lestrange Estate in Hertfordshire for the length of five years with exceptions to St Mungo's for his health, the health of his fiancée, and the health of his unborn child."

"Confirmed. Case dismissed," Robards said, banging his gavel down twice.

Lestrange bowed his head again. The Auror who retrieved the wands took them both back from Robards and stepped towards Lestrange. The chains slithered backwards, releasing him. Lestrange stood and looked the Auror in the eye as he took both wands. He said something to the Auror, who shook his head before walking away. Lestrange turned to Maurier and spoke a few words with him as well. Then he looked up at the gallery directly at Hermione. Her stomach twisted. She didn't want to identify her emotions too closely. She had been scared and anxious when it looked like he was going to walk away a free man yet now she realised she was probably going to have to go his home to interact with him.

He wiped at his face with the hem of his sleeve and walked towards her. Once he was within speaking distance, he greeted them. "Mr Potter, Mr Weasley," he said, nodding at each of them in turn. "Hermione..." he said her name very quietly, as if unsure of his reception. "Are you ready to go home?"

She frowned. Home was Harry and Ron. Grimmauld Place or the Burrow, not Lestrange Estate and not with him. She whispered in a sharp hiss, "I'm not..." Pregnant. She couldn't even say the word.

He knew what she meant anyway. "You are." He flicked his wand towards her, casting a non-verbal spell. Ron jerked as if he intended to block it bodily for her, but instead of anything painful, a ball of light hovered in front of Hermione's chest and then moved down her body where it stopped in front of her stomach. It flickered for several moments before blinking out of existence.

"What was that?" Harry asked.

"Our child's heartbeat," he said, more to Hermione than Harry. He had that almost-smile around his eyes again. "The vow you gave me confirmed it about three weeks ago."

"What vow?" Ron asked, belligerence in his voice.

"When I acknowledged the life debt, Ron," she said to him. She leaned against Ron's chest and he wrapped his arms around her and kissed the top of her head. She stood straight and turned to Harry, sharing a look with him before he hugged her tightly. She took a deep breath before looking up at Lestrange. "Okay," she said, resigned.

Lestrange took her hand and lead her down the stairs then put her hand on his arm, properly escorting her up to the Atrium. "I'd like to Apparate with you to show you the manor properly. May I?"

She nodded and closed her eyes as the squeezing feeling of Apparition came over her.

 *** . * . ***

When Hermione opened her eyes, all she saw were trees. She turned around, thinking maybe the house would be behind her. More trees. So she turned to Lestrange. He was wearing that almost-smile. "Why did you want to bring me here?"

"This will be the last time I get to Apparate to the estate for five years. I wanted to see your face when you see your new home. It's only a short way south from here if you're not opposed to walking."

"No, I can walk."

"Good," he said and offered his arm to escort her.

She didn't want to take his arm, it put her body too close to his. She did it anyway just so they wouldn't argue. She was still too overwhelmed with what she'd learned at his trial to argue about anything. They strolled south along the lane that was wide enough for a carriage and covered in red gravel. They walked up a shallow sloping incline and Lestrange paused at the top of it. When she looked up she gasped. The house was beautiful. It didn't look anything like Malfoy Manor; it looked much more modern. Still way too large for a single person. "When was it built?" she asked.

He had been watching her and his almost-smile had turned into a real one. "1611 by Robert Cecil, the first Earl of Salisbury."

"Oh. It's older than I thought."

"Really?"

"I was expecting something a bit more Gothic, like..." she trailed off not wanting to talk about it but at his raised eyebrows she continued, "Like Malfoy Manor. I don't think I could even enter a building if it looked similar to that one." She didn't include her reasons. She didn't know if he knew about her torture but since it was at the hands of his sister-in-law she assumed he did.

"No, it's about 100 years newer than that. We even updated to kerosene lamps when they came into style. I think my great-grandmother was secretly a half-blood because she wanted the newest technology available. Great-Grandfather indulged her but told her in no uncertain terms that it would be the last upgrade which may or may not have been a good idea. The next newest technology was electricity. And well, you probably know better than I how magic and electricity interact."

Hermione was fascinated. For someone who came from a pureblood line to even joke that he might have less than pure blood... this was a man she did not know. She didn't like it. When he was just a Death Eater, he fit nicely in the box of 'bad guy' in her mind. The more she learned about his behaviour and from his conversations, the more he didn't fit into the 'entirely evil' label. He was some shade of grey. She blinked and remembered he'd tried to bring her into conversation. "I've read that magic seems to fry electronic equipment but I've not had any experience with it myself."

"But you're Muggle-born, surely you could have experimented in your home?"

"And activate the Trace? Or destroy something important and expensive that my parents would have to replace? No. I was a good little girl and didn't use magic outside of school and the Hogwarts Express."

He hummed. They continued walking and soon they were at the front door. It opened for them and out stepped an elderly little house elf in a pristine white pillowcase. "Dorna," he greeted her.

"Master," she said and curtsied. "Master, is you wishing to take tea soon?"

His eyes narrowed, "That's not your job usually, what's happened?"

"Mistress Bellatrix, Master, she..." the house elf sniffled. "Before, when you is being sent away for _Him_. She is not killing the elves but maiming them something horrible. The few that was left have gone on." She sounded very sad and curtsied again.

"I cannot go out and purchase any more elves, I'm afraid, I'm under house arrest. Do you know any younglings from the markets that may be willing to provide an offspring?" he asked her.

"An offspring, Master?" Dorna asked. She sounded hopeful.

"I know you are a powerful, amazing elf, my Dorna, but you can't possibly take care of the house, the gardens, the cooking, and look after a new baby."

Her eyes went wide and she bounced on her tiny feet. "A new baby?" Her smile was radiant when she looked at Hermione.

"Hermione is pregnant with my heir and when she decides on the details she'll be your new Mistress as well." He was smiling back at the little elf, happy in her joy. Hermione was a shocked at this. She'd never seen much house elf interaction aside from grumbling, angry old Kreacher, weeping Winky, and overenthusiastic but helpful Dobby. She'd never seen a pureblood interact with an elf like this. Converse like this. The elf seemed happy hearing that Hermione would be a new Mistress which was something that Hermione would have thought would upset the elf. Having a new owner would upset anyone, she had thought, but Dorna instead ran and hugged Lestrange about the calf.

"You is making us prosperous again, Master Bastian!" A look of irritation marred his features and Hermione waited for him to lash out at the little creature.

"Dorna, how often have I asked you not to call me those two words together?" The irritation melted into amusement when he looked up at Hermione. He mouthed the word 'masturbation' at her.

Hermione couldn't stop herself; she giggled.

"See, even Hermione thinks it's silly. It's either Bastian or Master Rabastan, please." He crouched down and gently hugged the elf. She looked tiny next to him like that. "Now, something simple for tea would be lovely. And if you could, speak with your friends at the market. Tell them that I promise to name any new elf that is presented to me and they will be cared for by me as they care for me."

"I will Master. How many do you think we'll need?" she asked, stepping back to speak properly with him once more. He continued to crouch in front of her.

"Well," he said, pausing to think. "Mother always had at least three for the gardens, right? At least one for the kitchens and one domestic if you want to return to your duties as nanny. Otherwise, one nanny. And they don't all have to be new elves, Dorna. There's been a lot of deaths amongst my kind and there's sure to be elves that weren't bound to property in perpetuity or to a House. Elves bound to a family that has died may be looking for work as well. Hire from those first, please."

"You is not liking new elves?" she asked with a bit of confusion.

"Oh, I love new elves. It's a sentiment thing. I know elves don't have family bonds like wizards do, but I know mother elves are very nurturing. I don't want to take a child away from its mother."

"You is silly, Master Bastian, I can nurture a new elf just as good as if it were my own. If you or Master Dolph had sired an heir sooner, it _would_ be my new elf."

His smile faded a little. "Dolph won't be—"

"I know, Master, I felt the bond break," she said. She nodded which caused her large ears to flap against her head. She reached out and patted him on the shoulder. He nodded as well and from the little Hermione could see of his face she could see him swallow and dip his head to try and hide emotion. The elf seemed to know how to distract him from his grief. "Which room should tea be served in?"

"The green drawing room, please," he answered and stood. Dorna disappeared with a _CRACK_ and Lestrange looked over at Hermione. "Sorry about that. I didn't mean to leave you just standing at the door. Please, come in. See your new home."

The house was amazing. There was beautiful art in every detail: the ceiling of one room, the carving of the staircases, the flooring in another. Hermione was sure she would be lost the first chance she was alone. In one hallway, he asked to leave her alone for a moment and when he returned he was dressed in robes that were a light green. They were loose on his frame but seemed tailored to his height. After that, Lestrange showed her the drawing rooms, blue was more formal, green was more intimate. A third one, aptly called the portrait room, was covered in moving portraits like at Hogwarts. They were all pleasant to Hermione when he introduced her as the future Madam Lestrange. There was a two-storey library that was shockingly done in reds and golds. When she pointed out that it reminded her of Gryffindor Tower, Lestrange he just smiled.

He showed her the dining rooms, one formal and one intimate; the morning room for breakfast, and finally rooms he designated as hers. An entire suite of rooms specifically for her, or rather, the mistress of the house. When she thought about that she shuddered.

"What has you trembling?" he asked as he stepped closer to her, "Are you cold? Do you need to sit down?"

"I'm fine. I was just... These were Bellatrix's rooms too, weren't they? As Madam Lestrange?"

"No. The last person to use these rooms was my mother. Dolph and Bella always stayed in his rooms which are in the west wing on the other side of the house. She would have moved into these had we not all gone to Azkaban. Our parents died while we were in prison and when we were out we just continued to use the rooms we had as children." He was quiet after that, less enthusiastic about his tour. Hermione didn't particularly want to ask personal questions or offer condolences for his long-dead parents lest he think she actually cared about him.

She didn't. Not yet and maybe not ever. He'd entrapped her into this life with a life debt and she could appreciate his house and library but it would take a long time before she could possibly care about him at all.

"I do have one more room to show you," he said as he led her downstairs. "My father's study. His portrait is there and I need to introduce you." He didn't sound very happy about the prospect. It made Hermione worry that she'd get shrieked at like Mrs Black's portrait. He brought her into the room, dark wood and built-in bookcases lined the walls so much that she couldn't tell what colour the wallpaper might have been. The floor was a dark hardwood but covered in a large, thick, woven carpet in dark green. "This was always my favourite room in the house. My favourite books were in here."

"Rabastan, is that you?" a voice very similar to Lestrange's own floated down to them from above the fireplace. "No one else read these books unless they had to. You, weird child that you were, read them for fun. Who is this?" The man in the portrait looked like Lestrange but he had a longer nose. His eyes were a similar green. His hair was dark and worn shoulder length, as Lestrange had until it had matted so bad it had to be cut. He was dressed in resplendent, hunter green robes that were popular in style about thirty years ago.

"Hermione, this is my father Randolph Lestrange. Father, my fiancée Hermione."

The man in the portrait scrutinized her but didn't speak to her. "Are Dolph and his wife returning as well?" he asked.

"They're dead."

"I see." The two men looked at one another for a long while and Hermione wondered why they were still standing there when the portrait spoke again. "Is she a War Bride, Rabastan?"

"No, Father."

"What's a War Bride?" Hermione asked.

"In Wizarding culture, in past wars and conflicts when two opposing factions met, daughters of the losing side were given, or taken, as brides by the victors," Lestrange said and then added, "She's not a Sabine either, Father."

Feeling horrified at both of those labels, Hermione corrected the painting's misconception, "No, it was my side that won the war." She felt a moment of regret as soon as she spoke because Lestrange winced and turned to hide his face from his father.

"Blood-traitor?" The portrait asked, tipping his painted nose in the air as if he could smell her from the canvas. Lestrange pursed his lips and shook his head the slightest bit. His father noticed. "Mudblood? Damn you, Rabastan! Everything I taught you, wasted. You're pathetic. What will the Dark Lord say about this?"

Hermione flushed with anger. She hated that word but had thought she had become accustomed to it. Was she upset for Lestrange? "Tom Riddle is dead and my best friend was the one to kill him. And you're dead too so leave him alone."

Randolph blinked at her, shocked. He no longer had that snobbish look on his face. He looked over at his son. "Passion? You've thrown everything away for some silly romantic notion with a Mudblood. Tell me," he turned back to Hermione, "Are you engaged because you carry my son's heir?"

Hermione opened her mouth to argue but then closed it, unable to deny the fact. She _was_ only being forced to marry him because he'd used old magic to ask her for a child. It was so serpentine she wanted to vomit.

Lestrange answered for her, "It's not like that Father," he sounded defeated.

"Then how else do you explain your dalliance?"

"She owed me a life debt and I asked for an heir. I gained my freedom, a wife, and an heir in one calculated move. That she is passionate had no bearing on the situation."

The painted man harrumphed and crossed his arms. "You're soft, just like your mother."

Finally, Lestrange looked back up at his father. "Do you know where her portrait is?"

"No." He pursed his lips. "She died after me. I don't know if she did the work to animate her painting. She refused to speak with me after I died. Blamed me for ruining her boys."

"You were the one who gave us to the Dark Lord like we were property, not your children!" he snapped. "Do you know where Mother kept her painting at least?"

"The attic, most likely. Make the Mudblood get it; I've heard they enjoy crawling through dirt and dust."

"I will burn the next portrait that says that word, even if it's yours, Father. Hold your tongue." He closed his eyes and breathed deeply before turning to Hermione, his tone cordial once more. "Come, Hermione, I apologise for the failings of my Father. Let's go take tea. I'm sure Dorna has fixed us something lovely by now." He offered his arm to her. Behind her, the painted Randolph snorted in derision so to spite him she took his son's arm and let him lead her from the room.


	5. Chapter 5

**Tuesday, 7 July 1998**

It was like knowing about being pregnant was enough to make the symptoms hit her all at once. After dinner when Lestrange had brought her to his manor house, she'd gone to her new rooms. She awoke abruptly with what was left in her stomach attempting to make an encore appearance and it hadn't abated after one or two heaves. She'd stayed on the bathroom floor for half an hour before the house elf had crept in, shifting from one foot to the other asking if Hermione wanted a cracker. Or some milk. Hermione had gagged at the suggestion. Finally, when Hermione couldn't deal with the shifting, worried little creature, she'd croaked out Lestrange's name.

Dorna had disappeared with a resounding _CRACK_ and not two minutes later Lestrange had strode into the bathroom. He took one look at her, lying supine on the marble floor and turned on his heel. She figured it would just be like him to get her this way and not be any help whatsoever in providing her comfort. If she hadn't felt like she'd been run down by a bus, she would have hexed him. He returned a few minutes later with a potion tray filled with vials.

"Is it just nausea? Anything more? Headache?" He asked in the softest of whispers.

Hermione blinked up at him from her position on the floor. He was upside down to her but the emotion on his face was easy enough to read. Worry and amusement. "What the hell do you have to be amused about?" she forced herself to ask.

"Ah, sore throat from the stomach acid as well," he said to himself, picking another vial up so he had three in his hand. He tilted his head. "I know you think you'll bring it right back up if you move but I need you to sit up to take these."

She groaned.

"Would you like my help?"

She croaked 'help' and 'water.' He conjured a glass and ran the tap to fill it. He came around beside her and knelt. She had lain as starfish-shaped as possible to touch as much cool floor as she could. He touched her with the gentlest hands, bringing her up only a little so she wouldn't choke and held out each of the vials for her to drink. Then he held the glass of water to her lips and let her sip.

The potions calmed her stomach immediately and the headache and sore throat faded almost as quickly. "What is that?" she asked.

"What is what?"

Though she was sure the potions had done their job, she didn't trust her stomach enough to open her mouth. She pointed to the tray full of brightly coloured potions.

"Standard potions for a witch in her first trimester. Anti-nausea, headache relief, general pain relief, mouthwash, antenatal nutrition supplements. Made by two good friends."

She narrowed her eyes at him. Who did he have that was a good enough friend that wouldn't poison his Muggle-born fiancée? "Who?"

"Narcissa and Draco Malfoy. As soon as I saw you, I went and fire-called them. Narcissa is under house arrest as well but she is a very good potioneer."

Hermione wanted to vomit. "Throw them out," she mumbled as she stood, ignoring his offered assistance.

"Sorry?"

"Throw them out. They'd just as soon as poison me as to help me. It's a wonder I'm not dead already. I'm probably a dead girl walking as it is." She tripped and almost went sprawling onto the marble floor she'd found so comforting just moments ago if he hadn't had quick reflexes and caught her around the waist. He released her as soon as he was sure she was stable. "See?"

"Standard side effect of the pain relief. It's one of the same ones Madam Pomfrey would provide you if you'd tripped and fallen down the stairs. Most women are either in bed or sitting comfortably in a chair when it's administered. I didn't realise you'd decide to storm away from me in anger when you'd heard who graciously brewed many of these overnight once they'd heard the news."

"Graciously? You Slytherins are never gracious. There's always something in it for yourselves," she grumbled. She did want to stomp away but worried that she'd just fall over instead. She didn't want to ask for his help but since he was the only one available, she bit her cheek and swallowed the ill sensation asking for help gave her. "Can you help me to a softer surface? Whether the bed or a chair, I don't particularly care right now."

"Of course, Hermione," he said. Instead of offering his arm, he stepped indecently close and scooped her up into his arms. She groaned at the sudden movement but didn't feel sick. He walked her out of the bathroom and to her sitting room. "Would you like me to invite your friends over?"

"No, I just want to sit down with a nice book and forget everything for a while. What sorts of books were in your father's study? Fiction?"

"Law."

"You read law books for fun as a child?" she asked, giving him an incredulous look as he settled her into a chair. He offered her a blanket for her lap and she shook her head.

"I was an odd child," he said with a shrug.

 *** . * . ***

 **Wednesday, 8 July 1998**

After Hermione had given them time to work, whatever Lestrange had dosed her with left her feeling much better and she spent the rest of the day lost in a book before she joined him for dinner in the smaller of the drawing rooms.

She felt normal when she woke up the following morning. She got up but before she could turn to make her bed her stomach was rolling and she sprinted to the bathroom to empty its contents into the toilet. Not again. Although she'd read that morning sickness could be frequent, it never seemed to register that the pregnancy symptoms would apply to her. She'd only had two days of it so far and she wanted it over already.

There was a knock on her door then. "Go away," she groaned. It had to be Lestrange. House elves didn't knock; at least, Hermione didn't think they did.

He strode into the bathroom to find her sprawled on the marble floor again. Plucking one of the tiny blue vials from the potions tray he'd left on the counter, he brought it to her and helped her sit up to drink it.

"I don't want it," she said tightly when he brought the vial to her lips.

"And why not? Do you like feeling miserable and nauseous? Take the potion, Hermione." 

Her stomach felt like it flipped over and she jerked out of his hold to vomit again. She could feel his hands pulling her hair back away from her face and neck.

"I promise it's not poisoned. I'd go out and buy one off the apothecary shelf for you if you'd like except I can't go out. Asking the Malfoys for a shop purchased kit would be insulting since they brewed these specifically for you. Please take the potion."

Hermione wanted to grumble but the wave of nausea warned her from opening her mouth. She swallowed and once the sensation passed she glared at him but nodded. He brought the vial to her lips and tipped it so she could drink it. She hadn't noticed yesterday but it tasted like peppermint.

"You're supposed to take the potion before you sit up in the morning. Though I don't mind administering it to you, if you take it as a pre-emptive you shouldn't end up sick at all," he said, standing and setting the vial to the side to be washed. "Just the blue one before you get up. I'll set the tray on your bedside table for you." He left her in the bathroom wondering why his behaviour was so irritating. 

*** . * . ***

 **Thursday, 9 July 1998**

Hermione stretched as she woke up the next morning. Again, after she had taken that anti-nausea potion she had felt better the rest of the day. She opened her eyes slowly and spotted the potions tray and little blue vials on her bedside table. She laid still and did an assessment of her body.

She felt refreshed and well-rested. She didn't remember having any nightmares the night before. She was relaxed and warm. A bit too warm and perhaps clammy from the excess body heat trapped under the duvet but nothing unmanageable. Her mouth tasted nasty, but that was remedied easily enough with a nice brushing and some mouthwash. Her stomach was fine. Her head was fine. She was fine. Nothing wrong with her.

She eyed that blue potion. No, if there wasn't anything wrong with her, she didn't need whatever poison the Malfoys might have brewed for her. Yes, it made her feel better but she didn't know what else was in them. Perhaps they were the standard first trimester potions. Or, they could have an undetectable poison in them. She didn't put it past Malfoy not to poison her out of spite no matter if he was friends with Lestrange or not. She was a Mudblood to him and she would always be lower than dirt in his esteem. He could go rot with his father in Azkaban for all she cared.

No, she decided, she would not be taking that evil little potion. Besides she felt fine.

She sat up slowly and smiled. Fine. Nothing wrong at all. She turned to push the covers away to climb out of the plush bed when the first wave of nausea hit. She whimpered as she bolted to the bathroom again.

This time was worse than before and if Hermione had any of her brain left over for thinking beyond the pain and nausea, beyond being grossed out, she would be contemplating that blue vial and how maybe it wasn't a poison. Maybe it was something addictive and these were withdrawal symptoms. Instead of contemplating finding her potions kit and using Golpalott's Third Law to make an antidote she just starfished on the floor again. Moaning.

She didn't know how long it was before Lestrange entered her bathroom holding that little blue vial.

Hermione groaned at him and let her eyes slide closed. She felt him kneel next to her and prop her up in his arms, offering her the vial of salvation. When she swallowed it down he spoke. "You're worrying Dorna, you know."

"Never seen a pregnant woman?" She mumbled without opening her mouth too much. He was too close and she had vomit-breath and even though she didn't like him she didn't want to subject him to it.

"She says you murmur that you want to go home when you get sick. She thinks I kidnapped you."

"You did," she said. Forgetting her thoughts to protect him from her nasty breath. "You brought me here and started feeding me potions and now I can't leave. I haven't seen my friends in days."

He sighed, but there was amusement in his eyes. "The potions started after you started getting morning sickness. And I'm not keeping you here. I'm more shocked that you've stayed. I meant for you to stay, I suppose, but I didn't think you would. I don't even know where you're getting clothes; you didn't bring any luggage with you."

"My bag," she said as if that answered his not-question. "I want to see my friends."

"I'm not stopping you. The Floo is hooked up and I offered Tuesday to fire-call them and invite them over. Draco bought us an owl, as well, and if you call for Dorna with a letter she'll see that it's sent off." He didn't bother asking if she wanted to be off the bathroom floor. He helped her up and let her lean on the sink while she brushed her teeth and used some mouthwash. She kept glancing at him, wondering why he hadn't left yet. After she was finished she turned but leaned back against the counter. Instead of leaving, he scooped her up in his arms again and took her to her bed and set her down.

"Are you going to stop doing that?"

"When you're too heavy with child, yes. Otherwise? No." He stood and moved over to the vanity table and picked up her bag. The sound of a collapsing tower of books echoed around them. He raised his eyebrows. "Really?"

"Me staying here is temporary. I'm not unpacking. That's what I carried everything in when Harry, Ron, and I were on the run. It's got everything."

"And the month since the last battle?"

"Didn't... Didn't feel like it," she half lied. While it was true that she didn't feel like unpacking, it wasn't the petulance of youth. It was the unsettled feeling of paranoia that made her feel like she needed to carry everything she owned in her bag. In case it wasn't over. In case she had to run again.

He frowned, but his eyes still held that almost-smile of his. "You do realise that while pregnancy is temporary, rearing a child and being a wife are not, right?"

She didn't answer.

"Nothing's going to bite me if I stick my fingers in your vag? Bag! " Immediately after he said it he set the bag down and turned half away from her to try and hide his face. He was smiling, half laughing, in his embarrassment.

Hermione giggled.

"I didn't mean—that's not what I..." he tried to speak but was too flustered. "I apologise for the slip of wording in my previous statement. I didn't mean—"

Instead of accepting his apology at his Freudian slip she tried to egg on his fluster. "No one's ever asked me _that_ before."

"I should hope not!" He ducked his head as his face flamed even brighter and he chuckled. He scrubbed at his face with his hands before turning back to face her, still trying to hide his embarrassment. He opened his mouth like he was going to say something but his lips twitched and he smiled before closing his mouth again.

She decided to put him out of his misery. "There are no traps on my handbag. Though if the crash earlier wasn't all three towers of books, they might smash your fingers."

He took a deep breath and relaxed his face. He nodded once and turned to pick up the worn, beaded handbag. He started emptying it onto her vanity table. Stacks and stacks of books first, then clothes—hers, Harry's, and Ron's. Then the potions and few ingredients she had left. Then some of the tent stakes that they hadn't used before they'd been snatched and lost the tent. Pots, a cauldron—only slightly dented—and a muggle first aid kit. No money and no food. He conjured a simple laundry hamper and started dropping the clothing into it. He picked up her crumpled dark blue robes that she'd worn on Monday to his trial. Her black funeral robes were next. He set both gently off to the side. After that, almost everything he picked up he put in the hamper. Knickers, bras, the boys' pants, jeans, jumpers. He did not discriminate, he didn't flinch or seem grossed out. Just picked up the over-scorgified clothing and put it in the hamper. After he'd gone through all of the items on her vanity he called for Dorna.

The _CRACK_ she made when she appeared seemed loud in the odd silence between them. "Yes, Master?"

He put her newest robes on top of the pile in the hamper. "These are Hermione's clothes. There are some of her friends' clothes in here as well. If you'd wash them and put them in her dressing room when you get the chance, I'd appreciate it."

"Of course, Master Bastian," the little elf nodded. Before she disappeared with the hamper, she added, "There is being three displaced elves that need new bonds. When would you like to meet them?"

"Before lunch. I'll be here with Hermione for a while longer."

"Yes, sir," she said and, touching the hamper, she disappeared with another loud _CRACK_.

"Now I don't have anything to wear. I'm still in my pyjamas," Hermione complained.

"Have you not gone into the dressing room?" he asked but seemed to correct himself instead of waiting for her to answer him. "Of course not, you'd have no need if all of your things were here. While you were off in book-land on Tuesday, Draco came by and brought clothing for you. His mother had a mail-order catalogue and did a little shopping from home. Some of it might need tailoring, but she's got a good eye for it. She even sent Draco into London to buy a few casual Muggle outfits for you."

"I don't want anything from them."

"Narcissa and Draco are both my friends. My only friends. Narcissa and I became friends while trying to crawl into the wallpaper while Lucius and Dolph and Bella tried to stay in the Dark Lord's graces. Draco is..." he sighed. "I feel like I'm more Draco's age than Narcissa's sometimes. He gets my sometimes bawdy sense of humour and leaves me to my melancholic moods without me having to tell him. We had a similar experience as Death Eaters. I know you don't like them. I know Draco is a prat most of the time. To me, he's something like a younger brother. Being a prat is part of the job description." He grinned, "I should know, as I'm a younger brother too." He huffed a breath through his nose. "Well... I was." There was a moment of awkwardness before he changed the subject. "Would you like me to carry you into your sitting room? I was going to put your books on the shelves in there. You could tell me how to organise them properly if you'd like?"

They spent another hour together. He didn't talk any more about the Malfoys or himself, just put her books on the shelves where she indicated. She had tried once to have him put all of her books back into her bag for safe keeping, but he ignored her and started putting them on the shelves sorted by colour. She freaked out. Who sorts books by colour? When she caught his answering grin she realised he'd done it on purpose.

 *** . * . ***

Hermione found a variety of clothing in her dressing room. Everything from a dressing gown, to casual robes, to dress robes. Knickers and bras in a multitude of colours, most too lacy for her taste. Then there were the casual Muggle clothes that Malfoy had purchased. The clothing was high dollar but thankfully not couture. He'd purchased her things that she would normally wear. Jeans, tee shirts, a long sleeved Henley or two in pink and dark blue, several jumpers and even two bags of socks. Then there were five sets of shoes that looked, from the label underneath, to be from the cobbler on the high street near Diagon Alley. Two pairs of high heels, black, one for summer and one for winter. A pair of trainers. A pair of low-ankled hiking boots. And the softest pair of bedroom slippers she'd ever felt in her life. She was shocked that Malfoy would be able to find clothes to her taste. She wondered if he'd gone to a boutique so someone would help him pick things out.

She dressed in one of the less skimpy bra and knicker sets, jeans and a tee and the tied her new trainers before she called for Dorna and asked to have lunch in her sitting room.

She spent most of the time staring at the bookcases Lestrange had filled with her books. Sorted alphabetically by author and subject. She let her mind wander from topic to topic as she nibbled on the meal Dorna had brought her. It wasn't until she'd finished the last bite that she realised something.

She had told Lestrange that she didn't want a wedding. She had told him that the only way she'd marry him is if they went to the registry office in the Ministry to sign the papers. She wasn't even sure they could do that in the Wizarding world. Now that plan was shot. He couldn't go to the Ministry to sign papers. She growled in irritation and anger to herself and grabbed her wand and her bag before remembering that it was empty. She left it on the table and stormed out. Intent on yelling at the man and then leaving.

She found him in his father's study. "Lestrange!"

He looked up from a book he was reading near the window.

"You tricked me! Again!"

"I see you're feeling better. What's wrong, Hermione?" His voice was that calm, irritating quiet that he'd used when he was in the holding cell at the Ministry.

"We could have signed that stupid marriage certificate while we were at the Ministry but now we can't because you can't leave the house!"

"Then you should decide whether we're having an indoor or outdoor wedding, sweetheart," he answered, standing and setting the book in his hands on the chair he'd just vacated.

She screeched in frustration. "I hate you!"

He didn't even bother to try and hide his amusement.

"What?" she demanded.

"Just entertained by your passion."

She threw her hands in the air and huffed. "You are infuriating. I'm leaving!" She stormed away from him, headed towards the front door so she could Apparate. Before she even got close, he put a hand on her shoulder. She spun around with her wand aimed at his face.

"You ought not to Apparate while you're angry," he said. The amusement was gone and all that was left in his eyes was concern. "When I ask you questions regarding our wedding, do you assume I'm talking about some large over-the-top affair with hundreds of guests?" Hermione could feel him searching her eyes, studying her face. "You do. That's not what I'm picturing at all. Perhaps your parents, your friends as witnesses. Draco. Fifteen people at most. Something small and intimate. All of our friends understand this isn't a love match, but that shouldn't stop you from getting the wedding you've always dreamed of, even if it isn't with whom you wanted it to be."

As he spoke her anger with him dissipated and her wand hand lowered. Was this irritability and irrationality pregnancy related? She was frowning by the time he finished. "Why?"

"Why what?"

"Why would you care?"

"Because I want to see you happy," he said. When she rolled her eyes he reached out and grabbed her hands, tugging to get her attention and her gaze back on him. "As happy as you can be under the circumstances. I realise you dislike me. You believe I tricked you into this. I'd like to think of it as Fate. When I was a boy, I loved reading Father's law books. I'd lord it over Dolph that even though I wasn't the best flyer or the better duellist, I was the son with the brains in the family. Those hours spent reading and memorising cases gave me something to focus on when the Dementors came calling. Memorised thoughts aren't happy or sad, and they couldn't suck those from me. That I happened to save you at the final battle was fortunate, for both of us."

He paused and took a deep breath, interlacing his fingers with hers and looking down at their hands. When he looked back up to her, she realised they'd moved closer to one another; his face was much closer to her. "I'm a Slytherin, Hermione, and 'we cunning folks will use any means to achieve our ends.'" He smirked when she jerked at the phrase. "Yes, I'm pretty sure the Sorting Hat repeats phrases and maybe even whole songs over the years. The Fates lined things up for me and I took the chance. A life debt owed and a brain full of ancient laws and old magic. I saw a way to better my situation. I saved two other people that day who I believe later perished anyway. My brother died that day because of me. That I happened to use a life debt you owed me to gain a semblance of freedom, a brilliant wife, and an heir in one fell swoop seems to be the best play I've ever made with the cards I've been dealt."

She latched onto the one thing she could truly identify with. His guilt. "He didn't die because of you."

"If I hadn't bound him and disarmed him, he wouldn't have been against the wall where I left him. I didn't stun him. It's likely he saw the wall falling; saw his death coming and would have been damning me to hell for leaving him there to die. Being crushed to death by rubble can be a slow, painful death." He leaned back and shifted his weight. "He might have deserved it," he said, "but he was my brother." 

"And you loved him."

He nodded and lowered his head but not before she could see his eyes, glassy with unshed tears. "Are you leaving then?" He calmed himself with a breath and looked back up to her.

"I don't know... I don't know what I want or what I need. It's all just..." The honest way he was looking at her made her brain-to-mouth filter fail for a few moments. "It's all happening so fast. Too fast. I'm not ready to be a mother. Or a wife. I wanted to go back and take my seventh year of school. Take my N.E.W.T.s. I have friends I need to grieve for," thinking of Fred and Colin and Tonks and Remus, "I need to go to Australia."

"What's in Australia?"

"My parents. To keep them safe from Death Eaters, I modified their memories and sent them away. They don't know they have a daughter at the moment and I don't even know if I can undo the charm."

He frowned. "I can't go with you. Believe me when I tell you that if I could I would. I'd rather you didn't go alone, or at all, but you need your parents. Is there anyone you can take with you? Anyone else? Draco knows something about Memory Charms."

She wrinkled her nose at his suggestion. "Draco Malfoy hates me if you hadn't got the memo by now."

"I don't think he does. In fact, I think he was a bit angry with me after he heard about... about us."

She wanted to snap at him and tell them there was no 'us' but she was too confused. "What?"

"He's had a crush on you for years, sweetheart."

A short laugh escaped Hermione before she could stop herself. "What? That's absolutely crazy. He hates me. He calls me a Mudblood and says awful things about my hair and..."

"The equivalent of a five-year-old pulling a girl's pigtails. He wasn't socialised much as a child. I think that was his way of expressing interest the only way he knew how especially knowing that his interest in you was frowned on by his parents."

"I don't believe you."

He nodded and the almost-smile was back. "I'd still prefer you take him with you when you go to retrieve your parents."

"I was going to get Ron or Harry to come with."

"I'd heard you were the brains of the trio. If you don't know if _you_ can undo the Memory Charm, do you really want either of them rummaging around your parents' minds? It'd be a bull in a china shop. Draco has his mother's delicate touch when it comes to charms. It's one of his best subjects."

She bit her lip as she frowned. She didn't want Malfoy anywhere near her parents. Anywhere near her. Yet he was right. Having someone else along who might be capable of undoing the Memory Charms might be beneficial. She sighed. 

"Are you okay now?" he asked.

"Hmm?"

"Are you still angry?"

"Not really."

"Good. Now I'll feel better about you Apparating. The Floo is open if you'd rather use that. I'm sure the Weasleys would very much like to see you." He leaned forward and kissed her on the forehead then turned and walked away. She was so confused. What was it about this man that made her both angry and comfortable in his presence? She pushed the thought aside to deal with later and walked out the front door. She'd Apparate to the Burrow first and spend the rest of the afternoon and evening with the Weasleys. She'd decide where to go to bed that night later.

 *** . * . ***

 **Saturday, 25 July 1998**

After asking Mrs Weasley about first trimester potions and what they looked like, Hermione decided she might as well continue to take them. Once she'd started taking the little blue vial of peppermint potion in the mornings, her days got much better. After lunch with Lestrange, he would ask if she'd like to take a stroll through the gardens. Sometimes she would go with him and they would spend an hour or so strolling through the gardens surrounding the house. Some days he would engage her in conversation but most of the time he was content to just be quiet in her company.

On this day, she declined and waited for him to leave the room. Once she was sure he had gone outside she made her way to his father's study. She had a book to find.

She walked in and headed directly to the portrait over the fireplace. "Mr Lestrange?" she asked him. She hated having to look up at him, but that was the nature of portraits. No one hung them low enough to make eye contact with the subject. 

"Call me Randolph, please," he said to her. He sounded restrained and almost pleasant. It made her nervous.

"I have a question or two for you. If this was your study, did you practice law?"

He smiled at her, more in his eyes than his mouth, just like his son. "Indeed. I was a barrister and my partner was Léon Maurier."

"That was Le-" well, she supposed she couldn't call his son Lestrange and not sound weird.

"His mother called him Bastian," he said, a smirk alighting his lips, "and his brother and friends called him Bass. If either of those is easier to associate with him. From what I've been told you probably grew up hearing the name 'Rabastan Lestrange' associated with a criminal and a Death Eater. And yes, he told me Léon was his barrister. I'm glad to see that Léon still cared for our friendship enough to help him. The hefty retainer fee probably helped, of course."

"Were you a Death Eater?" It hadn't been Hermione's next question but it seemed important for some reason.

He tipped his head before answering with pride. "I was a Knight of Walpurgis. One of Tom Riddle's inner circle before... Before he became Lord Voldemort and before we were named Death Eaters. It was about maintaining our culture undiluted, securing prosperous marriages for ourselves and our future sons, and making money. Becoming powerful men in our government and our society."

She waited, wondering if he would continue. "When Tom came back from an abbreviated Grand Tour, he had changed somewhat. His goals had shifted. He gave his Knights a rudimentary form of his Dark Mark then. We Knights continued on with our lives and plans as normal when he disappeared for ten years. When he called us to him after that he was the most changed. The most changed and yet still the same. We were to still maintain Wizarding culture and keep it unpolluted but his vision to do that had changed. Not just snubbing Muggles and Mud-" his mouth snapped shut. "Sorry. Muggle-borns, but actively oppressing them and secretly killing them. Domination over those not like us. Weaker than us."

When he spoke no more, Hermione finally asked the question she'd come for. "Where's the law book that discussing my situation. Having to marry... him because I had no formal courtship with someone else."

Lestrange looked away from her, his eyes darting to the far corner of the room. His manner changed, he shifted in his painting. "I'm sure I don't know," he lied unbelievably. "I believe it was lost when Rabastan was a child." He glanced back down at her and she watched as he looked at the closed door and then back to her. He tipped his head in a gesture that seemed to point to the far back corner of the room, letting his eyes slide in that direction as well.

She smiled a little as she went in the direction he indicated. She wondered why Rabastan would command his father's portrait to lie about that. If that's in fact what he did. She looked at the titles. Years. Nothing to denote which book it might have originally come from.

"I believe it was one of Rabastan's favourites, there were several cases those years that were a little risqué." Randolph's voice floated to her from above the fireplace. Rabastan's favourites. _Rabastan's favorites._ Ah! She reached up and touched the most worn of the covers, _1521-1525_. She wondered if the case that established the law in her particular situation was one of his favourites.

She moved to the desk and set the book on its spine, letting it fall open where it wanted. The first paragraph that caught her eyes was of a young woman speaking testimony against her brother's patron. As Hermione read, she felt her face flame. Porn! The whole thing read like porn! She stopped and looked up at the portrait. He was smirking. Hermione narrowed her eyes and decided to take the book elsewhere, lest the living Lestrange show up to find her researching into something he didn't want her to know.

Back in her sitting room, she started at the beginning of that particular case, only because now she was interested in what was going on. The case was about a fourteen-year-old girl and her parents against the patron and lord of their region. They were similar to feudal peasant farmers but seemed to be slighter more wealthy than that. Not wealthy enough for the girl's older brother to study at University without a patron, though. The patron, a young man not much older than the girl's brother—early twenties at the oldest—seemed captivated with the girl. He seduced her and took her maidenhead. The testimony in its entirety was transcribed. The barrister of the patron asked indecent questions and had the girl describe everything the man had done to her. There were notes about how the girl became flustered and flushed, and how she squirmed in her chair after she spoke of certain things. By the end of the testimony, Hermione was flushed and squirming too.

The case ruled that since the patron did not force the girl and that she had seemed to enjoy his ministrations, the patron would be forced to make reparations to the family for compromising the girl's virtue at that time, and when or if she were to marry to pay her family twice the bride price of whatever the groom would have to pay, to be split half for the father and half for her dowry.

It sounded quite complicated to Hermione. To her, it should have been simple. The girl was only fourteen. No matter if she'd enjoyed it or not, it was rape and the patron should have been imprisoned.

In tiny scrawl inked into the margins of the book near the end of the case, there was a note. _1526-1530 — Three years later, the patron married the girl. Case was reopened to allow the father to collect the whole bride price._

It definitely wasn't the case she was looking for. Hermione flipped back to the beginning and skimmed each case. Price of cows in relation to galleons. Age of majority in children. Age teenagers were capable of sexual congress—which was determined to be thirteen. The standard weight of a sickle. The maximum amount of knuts a dry potioneer could charge for the new reagent 'Floo Powder.' The salacious case she'd already read and then two more about the amount of barley one could trade for beef or pork. Finally, she found the case she was seeking.

 _1524\. Jerich Menwick vs Nathanial Strangard_

 _Menwick (32) fathered a child on Morganna Strangard (16). Father, Nathanial Strangard demanded payment. Menwick offered to marry the girl with an appropriate bride price instead. As no previous cases existed and the men couldn't come to an agreement, the case was brought to the Wizengamot._

 _Strangard argued that payment should be made to him for compromising his daughter. Menwick, again, offered to marry the girl with the inclusion of a tripled bride price as she had been pure when he'd taken her. Strangard then brought up that he'd been in talks with another family to set up a formal courtship between Morganna and the other family's third-born son. Evidence came out in testimony of Morganna (thankfully without the indecent questions by a barrister), that Menwick and Nathanial Strangard had always been at odds and that the mentioned courtship talks had come after her seduction. Morganna was given the choice and encouraged to marry Menwick but not the suitor arranged by her father because she had not been in a formal courtship with him. She chose to marry Menwick, the father of her child._

 _Case established that if a witch not in a formal courtship became with child, she would be given the opportunity and strongly encouraged to marry the father of her child. Mothers unwed by choice would have a ban on their names and could not marry later, as the price for the bride was forfeit._

There were notes in the margin. _1565-1570 — amended for exceptions made in cases of rape and incest; 1670-1675 — Bride Price was banned in Wizarding English society, causing the ban on unwed mothers to be lifted_

Hermione sat back and blinked. _Given the opportunity_. It wasn't enforceable. Hermione smiled to herself; she didn't have to marry him after all.


	6. Chapter 6

**Saturday, 8 August 1998**

Hermione had finally started to feel better in the last two weeks and had stopped taking the morning sickness potion most mornings. She had learned to notice the tiny hints of nausea before getting up. Being too clammy under the duvet, an acrid taste on her tongue from the heartburn during the night. Once she could pinpoint those she knew whether or not to take the potion. She didn't bother with the other vials in the tray.

Two weeks of almost no morning sickness was great but her nightmares were starting to pick up again. She wondered if there was a correlation between the two, but considered it unlikely. She spent a lot of her time at the Burrow or Grimmauld Place but she always came back to Lestrange's house to sleep. The bed was plush and comfortable and he'd shelved all of her books and with all the clothes from the Malfoys, she had more things than space in her bag for them. So she just slept there. Once or twice a week she spent evenings with Lestrange. He was cordial and sarcastic and she found herself laughing at his jokes and teasing him to try and get him to laugh too.

At the start of the second week of August, she came home from the Burrow early in the day because a thunderstorm interrupted the pick-up Quidditch game she had been watching. She wandered around the house and found him in the study with the door open. She leaned against the door jam and watched him. He was reading but because it was gloomy outside he sat at his desk with the lamp on instead of near the window. She knocked a few knuckles against the door to announce her presence and watched him startle.

"You're not very observant for just coming out a war," she said.

"We were the ones making stealth attacks. Not once that I know of did I heard about the Order making a surprise attack on a group of us."

"We hit the Ministry once," she said, meaning when she and Harry and Ron had gone to get the locket from Umbridge. But thinking about the Ministry always led her mind back to the end of fifth year and Sirius Black. "Twice," she corrected. Though it had been a trap, they had gone in attacking. They just weren't particularly good at it.

He tipped his head in agreement. "What are you doing home so early on a Saturday?"

"Pick-up Quidditch got cancelled due to a thunderstorm. Mrs Weasley doesn't mind if the boys and Ginny play in the rain. When it starts lightning is when she tells them to pack it in for the day."

"Ah," he said. "Did you want some company?"

"I was thinking about starting my plan to retrieve my parents."

"And take Draco?"

She sighed. "If you can get him to be nice to me, then yes. The boys aren't going to like it, but you're right, I'd rather have someone with a delicate touch who's good at charms with me than the alternative."

"I could ask him over for a late lunch, today if you'd like."

She nodded. "I'll go ask... Oh, what was the new kitchen elf's name?"

"Limpet. And a new elf is what they call their children. Younglings is a good term for the elves once they reach the age when they can breed. When they get Dorna's age they call themselves Ancients."

"But she seems young; she's not a new elf then?"

"No, she's a Youngling. When she has her offspring Limpet will present him or her to you; as her new elf will be a nanny she'll bring the new elf to you to name. You'll see."

Hermione nodded and left to go ask Limpet to prepare a late lunch for three in smaller drawing room. She strolled through the house, meandering from the kitchen to the drawing room. She was the first one there. She settled on the settee near the empty hearth and leaned back and closed her eyes. She wasn't really in the mood to deal with Malfoy. She still hadn't decided whether she believed Lestrange when he said that Malfoy had had a crush on her. It sounded ridiculous.

She heard their footsteps before their voices. She wondered if Lestrange would turn the tables and tease her if she didn't react with paranoia. He'd tried to sneak up on her before but ended up in a full-body bind and with a lump on the back of his head where he'd fallen onto the floor. He hadn't tried it again. Just hearing Malfoy's voice made her tense, so she let her hand slide down her wand and grip it firmly and cracked her eyes so she could see but still pretend to be resting.

The door opened and she saw Malfoy's smug face and cast a hex before she'd realised what she was doing. Unlike Lestrange, Malfoy was still just as paranoid as she was and deflected it into the floor without hesitation. "Good to see your reflexes still work," she muttered and opened her eyes fully. He was dressed in jeans and a long-sleeved shirt, much the same as she'd seen Harry and Ron in earlier in the day. They were obviously high dollar, like what he'd bought her, but they fit him well and he looked comfortable in them.

"Granger," he greeted her. Then he did something strange. He tilted his head and looked her over, seeming to study her. "Stand up."

She half-heartedly snorted. "No."

"He wants to see if you're showing yet, sweetheart," Lestrange said. "and you are."

"Am not."

"Then stand up and prove it," Malfoy commanded. He strode over to her and held out both of his hands like he wanted to help her stand.

It was such an innocuous gesture she complied without thinking. As soon as she was standing he stepped back to look at her. He raised his hand and twirled his finger, gesturing for her to turn. She rolled her eyes and glanced at Lestrange who had that almost-smile of amusement on his face. She turned so they could see her profile.

"Oh," Malfoy said, sounding startled. She looked back to his face and saw a look she couldn't decipher there. It wasn't a leer or his patented smirk or sneer. It wasn't even smug. Appreciation? Of what? Then his lip twitched up into the closest thing to a real smile she'd ever seen. "Need to buy you some new clothes soon."

"Do not. I'm not—" she started to argue but looked down. It had been about a week or two since she'd paid any attention to her reflection. Her belly did seem to bump out now. She wanted to say something silly, 'Well that wasn't there before' was the first thing to come to mind but even that evaporated from her mind when she looked back up to Malfoy and Lestrange.

Malfoy reached out towards her, his hand paused in mid-air. "May I?" he asked. She wasn't sure what he was asking but assumed it wasn't anything bad and shrugged. His cool fingertips touched the lower part of her belly, skin that she hadn't realised was showing. He softly slid his fingers from her side to her front, laying his hand lightly on her tiny baby bump. His entire hand was cool through her shirt and looked remarkably large against her. He pressed his fingertips against the tight bump like he was unsure of how to touch her.

To try and ease the weird feeling of him touching her belly, she said, "You won't be able to feel it move for another..."

"Nine or ten weeks. You're eleven weeks today," Lestrange said. Malfoy stiffened like he had forgotten Lestrange was there and pulled his hand away quickly like she'd burnt him.

"Sorry," he muttered, stepping back. He looked lost and out of his element.

There was an awkwardness in the silence that followed before Hermione tugged on her shirt, confused, and asked the two of them if they were ready for lunch. The tension in the air seemed to dissipate and they all acted like Malfoy's odd behaviour hadn't happened.

Malfoy was cordial as they ate and he listened attentively as Hermione detailed her plans. The first thing on her list was transportation. She didn't want to attempt a long-distance Portkey. Lestrange piped in and said that Portkey use was discouraged for pregnant witches anyway. Apparition and Floo were the safest ways to travel until the third trimester where she was then restricted to only Floo travel unless in absolute emergencies.

"So we'll need to buy aeroplane tickets. It might be easier to go to a travel agent to get a combination package for both the air travel and the hotel since I expect it will take a bit of time to track down my parents."

"How long are you expecting the trip to take?" Malfoy asked.

"I'm planning for three weeks in case there are any problems. I have the names I gave them when I did the Memory Modification Charm so it should be easy enough to look for them in the telephone directory or a business registry; if they were predictable. I didn't take away their memories of their work."

"What was it they do again?"

"They're dentists. They work on people's teeth." Hermione grinned to herself when she caught both of them trying to hide the fact that they ran their tongue over their teeth as if checking to make sure they were still there. "Thank you," she blurted suddenly, the random thought that she owed her thanks to Malfoy for the clothing but also for the anti-nausea potions had come to her. "For the clothes... and the potions."

That tiny real smile graced his lips again. "You're welcome."

It was decided that after they finished eating she and Malfoy would head on into London today to run errands because she didn't want to wait now that she'd made the decision to go. She missed her parents and wanted to see them.

 *** . * . ***

Hermione and Malfoy Apparated separately to the courtyard behind the Leaky Cauldron. "Why did we need to come to Diagon Alley? I need to get clothes from a Muggle store."

"And I need to exchange galleons for pounds before we do that," Malfoy answered. "Do you want to wait here for me or do you need to come to?"

It wasn't until then that she realised that she had no money and nothing in savings, but she wasn't going to let Malfoy know that. "Actually, I think I might need to go see Harry."

"Why?"

"I need to borrow something from him."

"If you're going to ask to borrow money, just come with me. Bass sent an owl to Gringotts so you could pull money from his vault. He said you didn't have any on hand."

"I couldn't, no I'll just—"

"Granger, if you won't get money from his vault then I'll pay for everything. Consider it war reparations if you want. Isn't that why you sent your parents away? People like me and him?" He had stepped closer to her, and by the end, his voice was barely above a whisper. "Let one of us pay. If you don't want to think of it as using his money, think of it as him providing for his child. Providing clothes for his child's mother. Providing the means for which to retrieve his child's grandparents." He paused, studying her face. He felt too close to her, bending down over her. When had he grown so tall? And when had he become so manipulative?

She took a deep breath and nodded. "Okay."

"Good. Now come on, the shops do close in a few hours," he said and turned to open the alley with his new wand.

"Hours? I just need a few things, I would think it's you that needs more Muggle clothing."

They argued as they walked towards the newly rebuilt Gringotts. "Is what I'm wearing not Muggle enough?"

"Yes, it's fine, I just didn't think you have a week's worth of it."

He grinned as he opened the door and gestured her into the bank. "You're right, I don't. I bought a single outfit for me when I bought yours."

They queued to the counter and Malfoy told her to go first. When she opened her mouth to speak with the goblin it growled at her and she stepped back right into Malfoy. He didn't step back to give her space, instead, he put a hand on her hip to keep her in place. "Is there a problem?" he asked the goblin and if Hermione didn't know who was behind her she would have thought it was Lucius. Disdain and superiority could be the only way to describe his tone. But it seemed to be the right way to handle the goblin.

"We don't do business with this one," it said, baring its teeth at her.

"You do now. We need to make withdrawals from two accounts. Lestrange and Malfoy. We'll right the cart together." When the goblin didn't move and just glared harder at her, Draco snapped out, " _Now_." His voice was deeper than she remembered and she felt the sound of it move from his chest and through her back where she stood against him. She was uncomfortable with the proximity but didn't want to show it as the goblin had already scared her.

The goblin grumbled but turned and called for one of its fellows to man the cart. When he turned around he glared at Hermione again. "Why a wizard would let a thief of his vault back into it..."

As they were escorted to the cart, Malfoy kept his hand either on her hip or her back, staying close to her. She sat down and grabbed tightly onto the frame and when Malfoy settled beside her he grabbed the hand closest to his and held it. After flying through the tunnels and passing beside the Thief's Downfall rather than under it, they came to the open area where the dragon had been.

"Your fault," the goblin manning the cart muttered as he climbed out and stood impatiently waiting for them to climb out as well. The high speeds and twisting track had left her feeling queasy. Malfoy never let go of her hand as he helped her out.

"Do you need this?" he whispered in her ear and slid a little blue vial that she was quite familiar with into the palm of his other hand.

She swallowed, listening to her body before she shook her head. "No. I think I'm okay. Thank you." Before he moved away from her she said in an even quieter whisper. "There were curses on the things in Lestrange's vault last time. I don't..."

"Bellatrix knew you three had her wand last time and notified the goblins. Notice how he didn't take us under the waterfall? The curses should be removed." He squeezed her hand and then released it, moving to follow the impatient goblin.

They went to Lestrange's vault first, where she picked up a few galleons cautiously and then turned to leave. Malfoy shook his head and held out a small coin purse. "You're going to need more than that for shopping and travel. Just to have on hand." She reluctantly took the black velvet back from him and filled it with two handfuls of galleons. When she took a step away from the short pile of galleons, she heard the coins falling and she darted so quickly to Malfoy's side that she winded him. He wrapped his arm around her and let her stand against him for a moment in the silence before turning her around and whispering in her ear. "See? Nothing's duplicating and nothing's burning. Your trouser leg bumped the stack of galleons, that's all."

She took a few deep breaths to steady herself. She had no idea this was how she would react and she wondered if Lestrange and Malfoy had thought over this possibility. "I'm okay."

He nodded and guided her out of the vault. They had to walk deeper into the cavern to get to Malfoy's vault. "I used to love coming down here as a child," he said softly as they walked. "Loved seeing the Ironbelly and pretending to be a knight come to fight it for gold."

"Not for a princess?" She asked, feeling a tiny smile on her face as she teased him.

"Nah. Maybe to protect Mother, but it was way before I stopped thinking girls were icky. Who would want a girl when I could get gold and a new broom or toy?" She could hear his grin in his voice. When they got close to his vault he released her and handed his key to the goblin. Once the vault door was unlocked and opened Hermione could see inside and tried not to let her mouth fall open in shock. She had seen Harry's vault. She had seen Lestrange's vault, which had even more than Harry's. She had thought Lestrange's was full. She had been wrong.

Malfoy's vault had chests lined against one wall, full of galleons. There were alcoves of parchment and shelves of priceless books under Stasis Charms to protect them from the environment. There were chests against another wall that had uncut gemstones in a variety of colours, though Hermione assumed they were diamonds and emeralds and maybe sapphires. There were three tall self-standing jewellery boxes in one corner and in the centre were suits of armour and cases of formal clothes also under stasis. The clothes looked old fashioned and fit for queens and kings. Hanging on the walls were shields and weapons of all sorts, mainly decorative with jewel-encrusted handles. There was one, in a case directly opposite the door mounted on the wall, of a silvery longsword with reddened parts of its blade.

Malfoy picked up his galleons and came to stand beside her. His eyes followed the path hers made to the encased longsword. "The sword wielded by the first man others called Mal Foi when he claimed by conquest his place in Britain. Or so they say."

"Is that blood?"

"Yeah. Always thought it was wicked as a child. Now?" he shrugged, "Not so much. You ready to go?"

She nodded, still staring at the amount of wealth in his vault. When she'd heard that the Malfoys were some of the wealthiest wizards in Britain she hadn't grasped quite how much wealth that was.

When they were back in the lobby, Malfoy exchanged most of what he'd brought up for pounds and Hermione did the same. Keeping a few galleons just in case she found something she wanted on the Wizarding side of things. When they were back at the pub, Malfoy asked where she wanted to go for clothes.

"Wherever you went last time, I suppose? I mean, it's more than I'd normally spend, but I don't plan on getting anything..."

"Make you a deal. For every two things I buy, you have to buy something," he tipped his head, "Or I buy something for you."

"Three things, I don't need that much."

"You need maternity clothes."

"Do not."

"The next time you pull at your shirt I'm buying you maternity wear," he said, looking down at her from the corner of his eye as they walked along the pavement towards whichever store he had picked. Her hands froze in mid-air as she realised what she was doing. She let her hands drop but fidget twice before she tugged again at her top.

His grin was all the answer she got.

It took about an hour to find the clothes they wanted. Hermione was unsurprised that Malfoy was particular in his style decisions. Especially when she reminded him that it was winter in Australia. The shop didn't have much in the way of winter wear and they decided they'd just have to buy thick coats when they got there. He left with twelve pieces and she left with four. One of which was a short dress that draped dramatically, showing off her growing belly. It was long enough and shaped just right that she'd be able to wear it for several months as she got bigger. Malfoy added a second one in a different colour to his neat stack of clothing at the till.

When she glared at him, he just smiled and shrugged. "You insisted on buying those. I can buy this one. Actually, I think you should change into one of the dresses before we go anywhere else. You've been fidgeting with your shirt all day."

She agreed and after everything was purchased, Hermione took the dress he'd purchased for her and changed into it. She really did like the design and the texture of the material against her skin was silky and soft. The dress itself was grey with blue and gold flowers patterning it. When she returned he eyed her with that odd look of appreciation again and Hermione felt self-conscious.

"You look lovely. Travel agent next, right?"

Before they'd gone far, Malfoy stopped at a dead-end alley and looked around. "Give me your bags and I'll take them back to Lestrange's manor. That way our hands aren't full." So she handed her things over and waited. He was quickly back and they continued on to the travel agency.

They were met by a bubbly young woman who seemed over-enthusiastic for someone who wasn't going on a vacation herself. After discussing trip length and location, the girl started rambling about different combination packages. "There's one here," she said, pointing at her computer screen. Hermione was secretly amused that Malfoy didn't even blink or look confused at all regarding the computer. "And it looks perfect for you. I know a lot of people like to go on "babymoons" so this might be the trip for you."

"What's a 'babymoon'?" Malfoy asked; it was the first time he let on that he wasn't quite as comfortable as he appeared.

"Oh," the girl stopped and looked at him and then at Hermione, "It's just a relaxing or romantic vacation taken by parents-to-be before the baby is born, of course."

That was when Hermione realised that the girl thought that she and Malfoy were together and she opened her mouth to correct her but stopped when he shook his head.

"What's the package include?" he asked.

"Round trip airfare in first class, a honeymoon suite in a four-star hotel, and car rental for the length of your trip."

"We'll take that one," he answered. Hermione's eyes widened and she tried to argue, but he grabbed her hand and squeezed it. He paid and got the paperwork printed immediately. The girl gave rapid-fire directions on how to get to the airport and to enjoy their trip and then rushed them out of her office.

Once outside on the pavement, Hermione turned to Malfoy and glared. "You are an imbecile."

He raised an eyebrow, "For taking the best-priced combination package to get exactly what we needed. How is that imbecilic?"

"A honeymoon suite's only going to have one double bed in it," she fumed as she stomped back the in the direction of the Leaky Cauldron.

"Are you not a witch and I a wizard? If you can't conjure another bed I can always duplicate the one that's there."

She stopped and looked up at him, blinking. "Why didn't I think of that?"

He frowned. "I don't know. Maybe sometimes," he paused as if searching for the right word. "Things like a simple Geminio Charm were used in my childhood. I remember the few times Theo would be brought to play, but I didn't want to share a toy, so Mother would just duplicate it so we'd each have the same thing. I'd think that since it was a regular part of my childhood, solutions like that come more naturally to me than they might to you, considering yours. Muggles don't have a way of duplicating things like that, do they?"

Hermione stopped and turned around to look at him. She was impressed he'd worded it so well. Instead of just calling her a slur and telling her that his childhood was better because of who and what his parents were. "No, Muggles can't duplicate things like that. At least not on the consumer level." This time he blinked in confusion. "Industrial Revolution? Mass production of things on a large scale? You know what, I think I'll just buy you a book about it instead of trying to explain," she sighed in exasperation but realised he'd taken her comment as an attack because his lip was raising back into his patented sneer. "I didn't mean it as an attack, Malfoy. You're right, a magical solution doesn't always come to me immediately."

He dropped the sneer and nodded. "Let's walk down the Alley, there was bound to be something I needed to buy for Mother, I just can't remember what it was."

So they walked through the pub and on into Diagon Alley. It was much busier and crowded than it had been earlier. They strolled beside one another, glancing at the shops as they passed. It wasn't until they'd passed the still closed Fortescue's Ice Cream Parlour that Hermione heard the first whispers.

"Merlin! What is she doing out? And dressed like that!"

"Do you think she's under the Imperius?"

"Why would someone flaunt the fact that they'd been with a Death Eater?"

"Whose child is it?"

"Haven't you heard?"

"Well, she's not wearing anything to indicate otherwise."

"Loose woman."

"Scarlet woman!"

"Whore!"

The last one was yelled directly at her but Hermione couldn't pinpoint who in the crowd had said it. Malfoy took her elbow and tugged, "Come on, let's get out of the crowd." He pulled her into the Weasley's joke shop.

The air always seemed stagnant in the shop since Fred had died but even from the door, they could hear Mrs Weasley chiding George further into the shop. At the chime on the door, both George and Mrs Weasley came out to see their customers.

"Hermione!" Mrs Weasley shouted and bore down on them, completely ignoring Malfoy to hug her tightly, as if she hadn't seen her earlier in the day. "What are you doing out in public, dear?" She asked.

Hermione blinked and started to answer but Mrs Weasley continued on. "It's just not done," she said clucking her tongue. She glanced over at Malfoy and seemed even more upset. "And out with a Malfoy no less! Oh, why didn't you Floo or owl us? Ron could have escorted you! And not in a confinement garment! I wouldn't have thought Lestrange would have let you leave the house without one!"

"I'll take her to get one, Mrs Weasley," Malfoy said, surprising Hermione with how civil and polite he sounded.

After hearing all the whispers and seeing the pointing at her on the Alley, Hermione was confused and upset. "What's a con—" she tried to ask but Mrs Weasley didn't seem to notice.

"Well," Mrs Weasley huffed. "I suppose. Since you're her escort," she said to him. She turned back to Hermione, "I didn't think you were showing that much this morning, dear. Go on, Hermione, you need to get one." She hugged her again and then shooed them both out the door.

Malfoy stepped closer to her and put his hand on her back, guiding her. She didn't bother trying to look up and see his face because the way people were scurrying out of the way seemed a good impression of how intimidating he looked. Soon they were entering Twilfitt and Tattings.

"Good evening," a dignified older woman said from across the store. She came out from between two aisles to greet them properly. "Mr Malfoy," she said with a smile and a shallow curtsey. "And... Miss Granger," the woman's tone had gone from simpering and cordial to cold as soon as she realised who Hermione was. "It's a pleasure," she said in a voice that said it wasn't a pleasure at all. "Are you here to select your wedding robes? Mr Lestrange sent me an owl some time ago..."

"Sure," Hermione agreed reluctantly.

Hermione followed the woman to a rack of dress robes. Nothing was particularly her style or taste, so she just picked a set at random. The woman asked about colour and Hermione almost said white, but then saw a light blue colour on another rack. She walked over to it and pulled it out to look at it. Long-sleeved, covered in lace and something soft and stretchy. It looked perfect. "Not that one, this one. I like the colour and the design of this one."

"Yes, Miss Granger," The woman said. She eyed Hermione up and down and then let her eyes linger over Hermione's baby bump. "You should really be in a confinement garment, child."

Before Hermione could ask, Malfoy spoke up. "Can you make the panel interchangeable, Madam Hilliard?"

She nodded. "Of course."

"What is a confinement garment?" Hermione asked, irritated that she still hadn't received an answer.

Madam Hilliard looked scandalised at Hermione's question. She blinked at Hermione, as if so stunned she didn't know how to respond before explaining. "Of course, you're a muh-umm... Muggle-born. Right." Her tone went from cold to condescending and it irritated Hermione even more. "A confinement garment is a set of formal robes a witch wears if she has to leave her confinement."

When Hermione just looked at her and raised her eyebrows, Hilliard pursed her lips as if explaining was beneath her.

"Most witches with child will go the entire length of their confinement without needing the garment because they never leave their home. Sometimes the need arises, however, like your special circumstances with your fiancé. Even so, during confinement, a witch must be escorted everywhere by her husband or a... suitable escort." She glanced toward Malfoy quickly. "I find it odd that any members of the Sacred Twenty-Eight would choose someone so ignorant of our ways for a wife, much less a mmm-Muggle-born." She glanced one more time at Hermione and turned and went into the back of the shop.

Hermione couldn't believe her ears. She turned to look at Malfoy, clenching her fists as she did. "What the—" she started to hiss at him but Hilliard came out front again carrying a heavy, stiff brocade dress in dark green. She levitated it up in front of Hermione and flicked her wand at it in several different locations, taking in the hem, shortening the waist, tightening up the bust.

Hilliard addressed Malfoy next. "Did you want the standard crest, Mr Malfoy, or a personalised one? Personalised will take two days."

"The standard one is fine. Does Lestrange have a personalised one?"

"No. He's the sole heir and last of his line, there would be no mistaking which Lestrange the crest is referring."

"My father's in Azkaban for the next ten years, I don't think anyone will be mistaking the Malfoy crest for anyone but me."

"Right you are, sir. I'll be right back. Here, young lady," she said, finally addressing a silently fuming Hermione. "The dressing room is through those doors. You can leave your Muggle clothes—" she sneered, "—in the room and I'll have an elf dispose of them."

"That won't be necessary," Hermione answered through gritted teeth.

Hilliard turned and disappeared behind a curtain. Hermione took the still hovering fabric and stomped into the dressing room. From what Hermione could figure out, the confinement garment was thick, stiff dark green material with a damask pattern that looked slightly shimmery in the torchlight. It was high-necked, long-sleeved, and floor length. The bust was a little compressing as if it were trying to hide her growing bust line and it made her aching breasts hurt. The skirt flared out in an A-line from right under her breasts to hide any hint at her baby bump. She looked at the back of the dress in the mirrors in the room and noticed that there were tiny ribbons at both shoulders and near her waist. She had no idea what they were for. The whole thing had a row of buttons that were neatly hidden from underneath one armpit down to her hip. When they were buttoned a tiny flap folded so flatly over it you couldn't even tell they were there. She folded up her dress neatly and stepped out of the room.

Hilliard pointed back at the room. "Undergarments off!"

"What?"

"There is support and shaping built into the top and the outfit is worn traditional."

"Traditional?"

"Without Muggle knickers. I know you young girls tend to wear them at school but you're a woman now and adult witches go traditional. It's also an absolute necessity in a confinement garment in case you happen to be out when it's the baby's time."

"I'm not taking off my knickers."

Hilliard just pursed her lips again and rolled her eyes. "Fine. Be a child."

Hermione trudged back into the dressing room; she undressed and pulled off her bra. Hating that she was letting the ridiculously rude seamstress win, she took off her knickers as well. She tucked both between the folds of her Muggle dress and rebuttoned her robes. She did feel a bit more comfortable in the thing without her bra but going knickerless made her feel both naughty and ashamed. What if the fabric ripped? What if she were flipped upside down with one of the spells from Snape's old textbook? She walked out and Hilliard looked at her with her pursed lips and nodded. In the woman's hands were two large, stiff square paper-sized pieces of fabric. The one on top was elegantly embroidered into a crest Hermione had seen before but she couldn't place. She put both in a paper bag and handed it to Malfoy. He tugged Hermione's dress and undergarments from her hands and put them in the bag as well. He must have already paid because Hilliard told them to have a good day and ushered them out of the shop.

"I feel ridiculous in this thing," she hissed at him as soon as they started down the Alley. As they walk back down the Alley towards the pub, she heard more whispers behind her and saw a few people pointing at her back. Hermione bit her tongue and waited until they were in the courtyard of the pub before she turned to Malfoy. "Now what? Why are they pointing and whispering now?"

His smirk was back and Hermione had the urge to claw at his eyes. "Because you're in a confinement garment that doesn't have a crest on it, being escorted by someone who's not your intended, and not wearing betrothal jewellery."

"And? What does that even mean? What was wrong with my dress? You bought it for me, if you had thought it inappropriate, surely you would have said something before purchasing it."

"It means that I can contest Bass's claim to you."

"WHAT?"

 *** . * . ***

Malfoy grabbed Hermione's arm and Apparated her to the front doorstep of Lestrange's manor.

She screeched again in frustration and clenched her fists, determined not to attempt to gouge out his eyes no matter how smug he looked. She turned and stomped inside, Lestrange walked into the Hall from the other direction just as Hermione moved past him. "I hate you, Malfoy! This is why people hate Slytherins, you're so busy manoeuvring and trying to be manipulative that you forget that you're dealing with other people! People with feelings and emotions and agency and—and, God I hate you and I hope you die!" She screamed again and stormed out of the room quickly.

Before she was completely out of earshot, she heard Lestrange say to Malfoy, "Well?"

Hermione went directly to her room and quickly stripped from the stupid, ridiculous dress. She half mumbled half growled to herself, "Who the hell does he think he is? His _claim_ on me? I should have tried to claw his eyes out, see how he likes _that_. I'm not something that can be claimed or owned! And this confinement bullshit! God! He paid for the plane tickets! I can't go get my parents without him. I could kill him! Argh!"

She continued her monologue as she moved from the bedroom to the bathroom to take a long shower to try and ease her temper. Angry didn't begin to cover how she felt. She was livid. She pushed the curtain aside with more force than necessary.

"Ahem." Lestrange coughed from behind her.

Hermione turned and screamed in shock, attempting to wrap the shower curtain around her. She stepped back to get away but bumped against the lip of the marble floor and started to fall backwards. Lestrange moved so quickly Hermione thought he might have Apparated. He wrapped his arms around her waist and pulled her close to him, stopping her descent and holding her close. He reached past her and turned off the water.

"May we speak for a moment?"

She only sighed forcefully. The shower curtain between their bodies crinkled. He released her and stepped back, tugging the curtain from her fingers. She tried to hang on to it, she was naked and she didn't want him to see her.

"Let go of it, Hermione, I've seen you naked before. Just let go and let me talk to you. You're obviously upset. Let me try and help you calm down."

Finally, she closed her eyes and let go of the curtain. He pushed it behind her and put a hand on her hip and guided her towards the door. He pulled the fluffy, white bathrobe from the door and helped her put it on and then guided her out into her room to sit in her armchair near the unlit hearth. He went into her dressing room and came back carrying a heavy black brocade set of dress robes that he laid on her bed. He turned back to her and sat on the sofa across from her.

"I've heard very little about what happened today. That over there," he pointed to the black dress robes, "is the Lestrange confinement garment. Dorna and Krob pulled it out of storage. I'm sure you skipped right past it when you normally dress because it isn't something you're used to. It has the Lestrange crest embroidered directly onto the back of the garment."

Hermione looked over at the bed with the black dress on it. It looked heavy, just like the green one Malfoy had bought for her. She felt bad that the elves had pulled it out of storage and she'd let Malfoy buy her another one, but at the same time angry about it. Malfoy had asked the seamstress for an interchangeable panel. Was that why the green one was blank on the back?

"I don't understand," was all she said.

"No, I suppose you don't. Pureblood customs are probably the least written about thing in the Hogwarts library and the least spoken thing around anyone other than purebloods. I'm sure even now, younger people like Malfoy wouldn't normally follow them, but he's a special case in this instance. Normally when a couple gets engaged, a contract is written up and a witch is given a piece of jewellery at a betrothal announcement. The betrothal jewellery is unique to each family. It lets others know that a witch is engaged."

"Is that the same as a token of affection?" She asked thinking of the law and her conversation with Ron and Mrs Weasley.

He shook his head. "No. Tokens are more juvenile, a precursor to betrothal jewellery. They're often much less valuable, can be taken off by the witch, discarded, returned. Betrothal jewellery is more permanent."

"I suppose this is all about the Sacred Twenty-Eight?"

"Actually no. Originally it was about seventy families but I believe it's down to forty-five that participate now. They used to all be purebloods, of course, but now a lot of families are half-bloods."

"Okay. But what's that have to do with—," she gestured towards the bed and the black confinement garment.

"Like I mentioned, the jewellery lets others know that a witch is engaged, or in other words, 'claimed.' Since you're engaged but I haven't given you betrothal jewellery yet, you're supposed to have a chaperone to protect your virtue from others and from me. Obviously, the point is moot, seeing as I've already fathered a child on you."

She made a strange grunting, whining noise that she didn't attribute meaning to. She didn't like the way he phrased that.

"Think about your time in public when you haven't been in school. I'm assuming most of the time it was when you were in Diagon Alley. Can you recall ever seeing a pregnant witch?"

Hermione narrowed her eyes in thought. She stared at her lap where she played with a loose string on the thigh of her terrycloth robe. Had she ever seen a pregnant witch? First and second year, she'd been too mesmerised to notice much about the people around her. Third year she was excited because of Crookshanks, the poor lost soul. Fourth year was the World Cup, and though she'd seen thousands of people, she couldn't recall seeing any pregnant witches. She stopped and looked up. "No, not that I can recall."

"Right. Most witches spend the time in confinement at home. At least when they start showing. If they need to be out in public they wear a confinement garment with the crest of their husband on the robes. It's a larger way of showing that she isn't a scarlet woman and that she needs to be shown and treated with courtesy and respect. No jostling her in a crowd, no accidental spells. Everyone who sees a confinement garment should be circumspect in the witch's presence to keep her safe and unharmed. She's always escorted by her husband, or brother, or even her father if necessary. Someone to protect her."

"Why would a witch need protecting? She's a witch, she can take care of herself."

"Not always. Magic is fickle. The magic of a child might not always blend well with the magic of its mother. Witches can become extremely powerful during pregnancy if their magic melds well with their child's, or extremely weak if not. The protection is if the witch's magic becomes weak. Some women will become so weak they'll become like squibs for the duration of their confinement."

"Oh." Hermione was shocked. Why had she not heard of any of this? "Does that onset immediately? Does a witch's magic become unstable with mood swings? Does one or the other bode for a more powerful child?"

He chuckled. "Onset is within the first eight or nine weeks. It doesn't become unstable, but mood swings don't help. Neither is an indication of the magic of the child."

"Does it happen if the child is a squib?"

"It can."

"Oh. And if it doesn't happen?" She asked, slightly worried that something was wrong with her. She hadn't noticed being weak but she didn't think she was feeling more powerful, either.

"Have you not noticed your spell strength lately, Hermione?"

She blinked at him.

"You summoned a book in the library and the entire shelf moved a few inches across the floor. I had to have the elves secure each shelf more stably to the floor because I was worried you'd pull them down on top of yourself without meaning to," he answered, grinning.

"Really?"

"Really," he confirmed.

"I still don't understand about what he said about a 'claim on me.'"

Lestrange shifted in his seat and leaned back. "The Wizarding world doesn't have a stigma on polygamy. Betrothal jewellery has enchantments on it to discourage congress with other men, but it can be made with enchantments of two families so a woman can be engaged or married to two men without the jewellery causing a problem."

"Kingsley went on a tangent and mentioned polygamy in May, but he only mentioned a husband with two wives. Is one way more common than the other?"

"Neither is particularly common any more, but the jewellery is capable of it and there are no laws to prevent it. Draco knew that you walking about in a confinement garment without my crest on it would give him an in. He could then bring one of two things in front of the Wizengamot. He could contest my claim on you and claim the child you carry is his—which we know it's not—or he could ask for a blended betrothal."

"And that's the polygamy?"

"Yes. A blended betrothal with the ultimate goal of both he and I being married to you. He would have to formally ask me for that since you're already carrying my progeny."

"He didn't, did he? He was just taking the mickey, right?"

"He did."

She looked up from her lap to stare at him, scrutinizing the lines around his eyes and mouth. "You agreed, didn't you?"

"Yes."

"Why?" she asked breathily. She wasn't sure what to think. Surely they didn't... they couldn't expect her to be a wife to two men. Two Death Eaters. It was beyond anything she could truly grasp. "He would never have... " she trailed off, looking at the ashes in the cool hearth. "But I'm Muggle-born. It doesn't make any _sense_."

"I said yes for several reasons," he answered. "The most obvious being that he is escorting you around Britain and soon somewhere in Australia. It's an immense favour for me to ask of him and he was allowed to request what he wanted in return."

"And I don't get a say?"

"You're carrying my child, which lets me claim you as my bride. He asked and I said yes. If you don't want to give your body to him, you don't have to. You can kill him."

"Wha—?" Her mouth fell open in shock. "KIll him? How... What?"

"On the wedding night, between the vows and the consummation—that is, the moment of first penetration—you have a window of opportunity to kill him without consequence. He can and will most likely fight back and I can't help you at all."

"So it's a race between me casting the Killing Curse and him raping me?" She asked, gobsmacked.

"Without a wand," he clarified. "All of our wands will be held in trust by the officiant until consummation, or death, occur. If you weren't already with child the same window of opportunity would exist for you to kill me."

Hermione leaned back in her chair and stared at the ceiling for several moments. "Is this another one of those old, obscure laws that you've used to manipulate me already?" she asked the ceiling.

He answered anyway. "Yes."

"I can't believe I'm going to ask this, but are weapons allowed? Would I have to kill him with my bare hands or would I be able to stab him?" She looked back down at him.

He chuckled. "Are you truly asking or are you asking out of curiosity?"

She pretended to think about it but knew her answer immediately. "Curiosity. I don't think I could kill anyone."

"No weapons," he answered her question and then compounded on her comment about killing. "The anticipation and moments before killing someone are the hardest. Once the deed is done, it feels easy and like it happened too quickly." He shifted in his seat, settling his feet flat on the floor. He looked up at her face. She didn't know what emotion was written there, but she assumed it was shock. He ducked his head and all but whispered, "I probably shouldn't have shared that with you."

"How could killing someone feel _easy_?"

"The act itself is easy. The quick jab of a knife, the twist of a neck, the saying of a curse. Some of them can even be accidents. It's the emotional recoil that is not. Realizing the finality of death and acknowledging your soul is rent. Those aren't easy."

"Is that what you did as a Death Eater? Do you even know how many people you've killed?"

"I didn't..." he paused and sighed heavily. "I cleaned up after the others, mostly. The few times Muggles were the targets, I was sent. I'm not a good duellist and my father and the Dark Lord knew it. Most of the time, Father and I advised the Dark Lord on the law and ways to corrupt otherwise neutral members of the Wizengamot and the Ministry." His gaze shifted to the floor at his feet. "My father didn't push me into being a Death Eater because I was good at killing people, like Dolph. I was recruited because of my memory and study of law."

"And the Longbottoms?"

"Dolph brought me along as the look out," he said, returning his gaze to meet hers dead on.

"Isn't that the night you four were caught?" she asked, her brow furrowing.

He shrugged and glanced away again. "I might not have warned the others when I saw the Aurors arriving."

"Did you think you would not be charged?"

His gaze shifted again and he focused over her shoulder, wanting to see her but not able to meet her stare directly. "If we were allowed barristers, Father or Maurier would have taken the case. We weren't. If we were allowed separate trials, I could have spoken for myself and I would have walked free. We weren't."

Hermione leaned back in her chair, unsure of when she'd leaned forward in her interrogation. She tried to process all the things he'd told her but she needed time alone. She glanced back toward the bathroom door; she really needed a long bath to give herself time to think.

"Since you're leaving for Australia in two days," he asked after a few moments of quiet, "will you warm my bed tonight?"

Hermione felt like she had conversational whiplash. He'd done that to her before, jumping from one topic to another so completely different it always seemed to freeze her brain. "We really need to work on your transitions, you know that?"

He laughed and, despite the heavy conversation, the sound of it seemed to warm her all the way down to her toes.


	7. Chapter 7

**Sunday, 9 August 1998**

There was a flash of red light, then sickly green. Then the roar of a giant and the crash of stone.

Hermione bolted upright in bed and blinked. The room was still dark. She could feel her pulse tattooing a fast rhythm against her breastbone, feel the warm, dry air drag into her lungs. A nightmare. Only a nightmare. She thought about laying back down but realised she needed to use the loo first, so she grabbed her wand and cast the Wand-Lighting Charm.

The room looked different and it took her a moment to remember why. She was in Lestrange's room. She had reluctantly agreed to warm his bed, as he'd asked, too tired and overwhelmed from such a long day to argue. She figured she would at least get an orgasm out of the deal. But instead of demanding sex, or just coercing her into it, it seemed all he wanted was to hold her while she slept. She had dressed in her pyjamas, hid under his duvet, and watched as he followed. He undressed completely then pulled a pair of pyjama bottoms on before he settled under the covers with her. She had waited for his hand to touch a breast or his lips to touch her neck but he'd just lightly caressed the swell of her baby bump and fallen asleep behind her.

She had been confused.

She padded back into the bedroom from the loo and he was sitting up blinking in her direction. " _Nox_ ," she whispered.

"Are you all right?" he asked, voice gruff with sleep.

"Nightmare."

"I'm sorry."

"Not you're fault."

"Do you want to talk about it?"

"Nothing to tell, really. It was just the chaos of the final battle. Spell light, loud noises, running. I'm fine."

"If you're sure," he said. He waited for her to slip back under the light duvet and lay down before he brought his body close to hers to snuggle again. "Do you mind?"

"Mind what?"

"Being held."

"I don't suppose so."

"Kay," he answered with a sigh. Hermione was almost positive he'd already fallen back asleep. She envied him that, though she assumed he had his own brand of nightmares. Snakes, chilling laughter, bony hands. Cold, fear, and dread. She closed her eyes and was lost again to sleep.

When she woke properly with her alarm, set late for her at nine, he was no longer in the bed beside her. She hoped to slip back into her room to dress and shower, but his bathroom door opened and he came back in, fully dressed in casual grey robes.

"Good morning. No more nightmares, I hope?"

"No, the rest were peaceful," she answered. She didn't think she dreamt at all after she closed her eyes again.

He went over to a vanity, opened a small wooden box and pulled something out. He walked back to the bed and sat propped against the pillows next to her. He held out what he'd retrieved. It was a necklace, a pendant on a long, silver chain. The pendant was a vertical rectangle of black stone with a vine of silver and leaves of tiny diamonds. It was small in his palm, maybe two inches high.

"It's pretty," Hermione said though her tone was clipped. She had an idea about what this was and she was not at all enthusiastic about it.

"This is a piece of Lestrange betrothal jewellery. Platinum, onyx, and diamonds. Any piece with those three materials will signify a betrothal or engagement with a Lestrange. Only I can put it on or take it off, the clasp will disappear after I fasten it. If you... If you have sex with someone else while wearing it, the jewellery will break and can't be fixed. Visual representation of adultery. I know you probably find it in poor taste, but that's the enchantments on it. I don't expect you to wear the confinement garment to Australia; you are your own person and I know you'll be safe because you are powerful and Draco will be with you. Hermione Granger, will you wear this jewellery as a visual representation of my promise to marry you when you so choose?"

The formal wording tipped her off to answer formally in return, though she wasn't sure exactly what to say. If she refused it, every time she went out in public she would be ridiculed and called out. She had no idea if that sort of damage would affect her career choices in the future. The more she learned about Wizarding society outside of Hogwarts when the world wasn't at war the more she thought that reputation, blood status, and who one knew would be more valuable than merit. He also had said that when she married him would be her choice. She could just choose never to do so. "Yes, I accept it."

He smiled. "Perfect." He leaned forward and draped the necklace around her neck, letting the pendant fall between her breasts. He chuckled. "Hold your hair? I don't want to catch it in the clasp or tug on it." She reached up and grabbed her hair between her hands, holding it off of her neck while he clasped the necklace. The jewellery glowed a brilliant white for a brief moment.

She ran her fingers up the chain, searching for the clasp. When she didn't find it, she dropped her hair and turned to look at him. "How does that work?"

"Any heir of the House of Lestrange can see the clasp. If my brother or father were alive, they would be able to take it off of you. It's made with blood magic."

"Blood magic?"

"Nothing dark. Does it feel dark?"

Hermione reached up and touched the pendant itself, closing her eyes to focus. No, it didn't feel dark. It felt safe, protective. "No, it doesn't."

"Not all blood magic is dark. I know they don't teach about it much at Hogwarts."

She opened her eyes and watched him as she asked, "Then how did you learn?"

"Private lessons with Mother before I went to Hogwarts and during the summers after. Standard pureblood education."

She frowned, dropping her hand back to her lap.

He continued. "I realise that if we didn't restrict that sort of knowledge to purebloods, then Muggle-borns coming into our world at eleven would be on equal footing. And maybe one day we can integrate those sorts of things into Hogwarts lessons. It's always been the disparity between Muggle culture and pureblood culture that people like my father ranted about."

"How sensitive is the blood magic?"

"Umm... I've never had reason to test the limits of it but contact with another man's seed is the trigger. Though I suppose there's a lot of things that could be considered sex before a man ejaculates."

"But it won't break the jewellery if I hug Harry or attempt to claw Malfoy's eyes from his sockets, right?"

He pretended to think, going so far as to tap his forefinger on his chin. "His blood might work as a trigger. Better just stick to punching him in the face."

She smirked. "I've done that before."

"I know, he told me. Said yesterday that he actually expected you to do it again. Or hex him. I told him he was very lucky because you're showing signs of increased power with this pregnancy."

"Is there any books regarding that? When I did research in May, I only looked at Muggle resources. I only wish I could read them on the plane tomorrow."

"I don't think there's much in the library but I'll look for you before you go. Now, would you like breakfast in bed?"

 *** . * . ***

Hermione packed several outfits and her new dresses. She had thought about taking just her handbag but thought that the security at the airport might be confused why she didn't have luggage. So she asked Lestrange, who asked Dorna, who found a beautiful small travel trunk that had belonged Rabastan's grandmother. It was quite beautiful and Hermione wanted to refuse to use it because she worried the airline might lose it but Lestrange insisted. 

She then went to the Burrow to talk to Harry and Ron. Her plans had come together much faster than she had anticipated. She arrived by Floo, instead of Apparating, which was different for her. Mrs Weasley greeted her with a hug and a wagged spoon, "Have you have breakfast, dear?"

"Yes." She almost overshared that Lestrange had brought her breakfast in bed but figured that might bring up a topic she rather didn't want to discuss. "Do you know where Ron and Harry are?"

"Early morning flying, since I cut them short yesterday with the thunderstorm." She glanced at her wristwatch. "They've been out for about an hour already; they should be coming in soon. Knowing Ron, he'll show up just in time to eat."

Hermione smiled. She started towards the door, to go see if the boys were still flying when Mrs Weasley's voice called her back.

"How did things go yesterday, Hermione? With the confinement garment? I heard a few rumours as we were closing up shop yesterday but..."

Instead of answering the question, Hermione asked one marginally related to it. "Do you mind that I don't wear a confinement garment here? You'd never said anything before..."

"I consider this your home, sweetie. I wouldn't expect you to wear one here or at Grimmauld Place when you're visiting Harry. I didn't mean to fuss so, it's just with that pretty dress you were wearing, well, I hadn't realised you'd started showing is all. It worried me. What if someone had attacked you in the Alley?"

"I was subjected to whispers both before wearing one and after but I know why after."

There was a bit of a commotion and Hermione heard Harry and Ron talking enthusiastically as they were headed back up the path towards the front door. There was a natural lull in their conversation when they entered the kitchen.

"Why after?" Mrs Weasley asked.

"Malfoy used my ignorance against me and bought one that didn't have Lestrange's crest on it. So I wore it without one."

"WHAT?" Ron shouted, the genial smile he'd had before gone in an instant. "You didn't," he muttered in disbelief. "Tell me he didn't ask for you formally? Please. Why didn't I think of that?"

"I'm really confused," Harry pointed out.

Hermione sighed and Mrs Weasley's worried look spoke volumes.

"Go wash up, boys, and we'll have breakfast. Arthur and George are at work. Hermione, if you'll go get Ginny, she should be in her room, we'll talk while we eat. Harry's been such a dear and I know he hates being confused. This is something that I can explain to him without having to worry about him being too young."

Hermione followed her instructions and soon the five of them were enjoying one of Mrs Weasley's wonderful breakfasts. Mrs Weasley started off explaining to Harry about betrothal jewellery. She showed off a bracelet she always wore and her wedding ring which were both rose gold with a single garnet. Hermione pulled her pendant out and showed it to them as well.

"That's beautiful, Hermione!" Ginny said.

"Yeah," Ron grumbled.

Harry seemed to share Ron's lack of enthusiasm, though instead of from jealousy it was more from a Muggle point-of-view. "So that's Lestrange's way of saying he owns you and anyone who knows about betrothal jewellery knows what that combination means?"

"Right. Though it's not really ownership, it's... well it's just tradition. It's an agreement between people; visually showing that they've promised to be faithful to one another. Platinum, onyx, and diamonds are representative of the House of Lestrange," Mrs Weasley confirmed.

"Except the man doesn't have to wear anything like it," Hermione added, frowning. "He gave it to me this morning along with a Lestrange confinement garment with the crest embroidered on the back, though he said he didn't expect me to wear it in Australia."

"What's in Australia?" Ginny asked.

"My parents. I modified their memory before I came here last summer and sent them to Australia. I'm leaving tomorrow to find them and bring them home. I've set aside three weeks to find them. Malfoy's coming with me."

"Why Malfoy?" Harry asked, hurt obvious in his voice.

"Because he paid for the aeroplane tickets and Lestrange said he's good with charm work. I don't know if I can fix my parents' memories by myself."

"You could have asked me, Hermione," Harry said darkly.

"I know. Lestrange wouldn't agree to let me go unless Malfoy accompanied me."

"And that explains why Lestrange let you out of the house without asking you to change into the confinement garment he already had. He gave Malfoy the opportunity to be seen with you without attribution to him," Mrs Weasley said, putting the pieces together. "So Malfoy asked him for a blended betrothal?"

"Yes. I was extremely upset about the whole thing."

"I don't blame you. Without consulting you first was a very underhanded way to do things. You know, there hasn't been a polyandric triad in three hundred years at least," the older woman said.

"Wait, what?" Harry said, looking at Ron who was staring blankly at his empty plate, rubbing his finger over a crack in the wooden tabletop.

So Mrs Weasley explained about confinement garments and crests, and polygamy not being illegal. She turned her attention back to Hermione and scandalised all of them when she casually said, "Well, if you want to have sex with the Malfoy boy make sure he gives you the blended betrothal jewellery first. No need to break such a lovely necklace."

Hermione's mouth fell open in shock. "I don't plan on having sex for a very long time, with either of them actually."

"A little late for that," Ginny said as her eyes fell to look at the baby bump that was accentuated with Hermione's new top.

"Why not?" Mrs Weasley asked. "It's not like you might get pregnant!" she said with a grin. "Might as well have a little fun while you're well rested. You're coming up on your second trimester, already, you'll start getting really randy soon."

"Mum!" Ron said, blinking at her in shock as the tips of his ears started turning pink.

"Just telling Hermione what to expect, Ron, nothing wrong with that. I would have thought she would have already been spending regular quality time with Lestrange."

"Mum, I can't believe you're—you're encouraging her! You always told me to wait for marriage!" Ginny fussed.

"When you're wearing betrothal jewellery, Ginny, then you can bonk until your heart's content and if you get pregnant, bonk some more. No harm then. It's doing so before you're betrothed, though I'd appreciate it if you only asked for her hand after she's out of school, Harry."

"What?" Harry asked, not quite catching that Mrs Weasley had turned her attention to him.

"There should be Potter betrothal jewellery in your vault if you're serious about my little girl. That's all I'm saying."

"So you're going to marry Malfoy and Lestrange. I thought one Death Eater was enough," Ron muttered petulantly.

"Ron, I haven't agreed to anything. I haven't even set a date for a wedding." Hermione sighed and wondered what she could do to placate Ron, but found she couldn't find the words to do so. There was nothing she could say or do in this situation that would make any of it easier on him. She was having enough trouble dealing with it all herself. Aside from his initial outburst, he'd been relatively calm about the whole thing and she appreciated it. Instead of speaking, Hermione stood and moved around the table to gather the dirty dishes so she could set about washing them. She put them in the sink and Ginny asked her why she wasn't using magic to wash them; she was of age.

"It's habit. I don't think I've ever washed dishes with magic. Is it a simple Scouring Charm or is it something specific?" She asked Mrs Weasley. She looked at the stack of plates. At one point they might have all matched, but now some were stained red from pasta and two were black on the bottom from one of the twins' pranks.

Mrs Weasley confirmed that it was and Hermione cast a Scouring Charm at the stack. The sound of ceramic cracking made her gasp; she hadn't meant to break them! She rushed to the sink to see what was wrong and realised that all of the stains were gone. The china was a brilliant, bright white, even though every single plate was broken in two or three places.

Hermione suddenly felt the urge to cry. She'd broken all of Mrs Weasley's plates! When she looked up at her, tears in her eyes and apology on her tongue, she saw the smile on the older woman's face. Harry, Ron, and Ginny had jumped up at the sound of ceramic breaking and come closer. Mrs Weasley laughed.

It startled Hermione's tears away and tied her tongue. Mrs Weasley just continued to laugh as she pulled the broken pieces of ceramic out of the sink and set them out on the table in no particular order. Looking them up and down. Nothing was stained. Nothing was black. Every single piece was as pretty and white as it was when originally gifted. Mrs Weasley used her wand to cast a Mending Charm on each plate in turn and they all mended themselves nicely back together.

"Merlin," Ginny said in wonder, "What did you do, Hermione? I've never seen the plate white. I thought they were cream!"

Finally, guffaws settling down into the occasional giggle, Mrs Weasley looked up at Hermione. "I see your magic and baby's meshed well together! I haven't seen these plates this perfect since Grandmother Prewett gave them to us. I think if they'd had a design on them you might have scrubbed that off too!" She took a moment to look at Hermione, who still felt awful for breaking the plates even though Mrs Weasley had easily put them back together again. "Oh dear, don't worry about it. You're fine! I had been worried about you, you know, it's so good to know that you've got the extra boost in power since you'll be going off to Australia for three weeks, even though you'll have young Malfoy with you. I only ever got the boost in power with Fred and George and it was so hard wrangling the older boys being weak as a newborn kitten when I was pregnant with Ron and Ginny."

"How much did I miss at Hogwarts? I feel like I've been dropped off in an alternate universe at this point and I don't understand anything," Harry complained good-naturedly. It broke the tension in Hermione's shoulders and she smiled, relieved that Mrs Weasley wasn't upset about the plates. She supposed she shouldn't be either considering they were all fixed now.


	8. Chapter 8

**Monday, 10 August 1998**

Malfoy arrived to escort Hermione to the airport several hours early and with quite a few more bags than she had. He had had an elf help it set it all in Lestrange's foyer. When Hermione saw it, she raised both eyebrows. "Really? They'll charge extra for more bags."

He stuck his nose up in the air. "It takes time to look this good."

She laughed. He frowned as she set her single trunk next to his four much larger, matching pieces.

"Is it a magic trunk?" he asked. "Larger on the inside?"

"No, I just didn't bring more than a few changes of clothes."

"But we're going for three weeks," he said with incredulity.

"And we'll wash things and wear them again. And not just a Scouring Charm; a hotel this nice will have laundry service or I can find a laundry mat."

Lestrange sounded amused. "If you need to try and repack down to fewer trunks, I can ask Krob to take them to the suite downstairs of mine."

Malfoy's brows came together in thought for a moment before he nodded. While Krob popped in and then back out with Malfoy's luggage, Lestrange offered to show Malfoy which room it was. They passed Hermione but before she could find somewhere else to be Malfoy reached out and grabbed her hand, pulling her with him.

He was secretive with one bag and refused to let it be unpacked, stating that he definitely needed everything in that one. By deduction, Hermione figured it must have his pants in it though it clinked slightly when he set it back down. Hair care potions too, perhaps? A well-placed Confundus Charm on the airport security would directly them away from the bag if they decided to check it. The other three were opened on the large bed. The clothing inside was neatly folded but packed loosely.

After surveying it quickly Hermione spoke. "All of this could fit into one really; you might need to leave the third set of shoes."

"I couldn't! They go with the dress slacks."

Hermione wrinkled her nose. "What do you picture happening when we get to Australia? We aren't going to have time for fine dining or sightseeing until after we find them and then we'll probably be needed to pack up the house and get everything shipped short notice back to Britain."

Malfoy frowned and pulled his dressier items out and set them on the dressing table. He picked up a pile of other clothes and moved to set them in the first suitcase as he spoke. "Where did you and your parents live originally?" As he pulled back from the suitcase, his sleeves had pushed up revealing what was left of his Dark Mark.

Hermione's eyes seemed stuck as she stared, not answering his question. He realised what had caught her eye and righted his sleeves. He shared a look with Lestrange before deliberately pulling the left one up again. "What, Granger? You knew I had it. You don't stare like that when you see his, do you?" He looked back over to Lestrange, "Or did mine scar worse for some reason?"

Lestrange shook his head. "No, if anything yours just looks like a bad burn scar. Mine still retains its colour. I don't think she's seen mine but once."

Hermione closed her eyes and shuddered. She took a moment to breathe calmly before she opened her eyes. "Sorry. You had asked a question?"

"Where did your parents originally live? But I don't really care about that answer now, now I want to know why you've only seen his Dark Mark once."

Hermione forced a half smile on her face, "I'm sure Lestrange can answer that for you. I'm going to freshen up. When you're done, it'll be time to leave." She walked out of the room just as Malfoy's voice asked a crude question about sex. She didn't hear Lestrange's answer.

Two hours later, she and Malfoy were walking down the aisle of the aeroplane about to take their seats. The Apparition to Leaky Cauldron's courtyard was normal, and Krob had delivered their bags within moments of regaining their equilibrium. Then Hermione had hired a cab and they rode to the airport with their three bags. Security didn't stop them at all which made Hermione suspicious of Malfoy, but he'd raised his hands in surrender. "I didn't do anything. Seems we look like a normal couple doing, you know, normal things. I'm not calling it that silly word the travel agent called it."

"Taking a babymoon?" she had teased, running her hand over her baby bump.

Hermione asked for the window seat and Malfoy nodded. Once settled, Malfoy decided it was private enough to talk. "I'm glad you didn't stop me from coming with you on this trip. Considering what I did when we were out."

"It was horribly Slytherin of you and I still haven't truly forgiven you. Don't think I've forgiven Lestrange's part in it either."

"He didn't—"

"You and I both know he was in on it from the beginning. When you showed up for lunch he mentioned I was showing and yet didn't say a word when we left while I was still wearing my normal clothes."

Malfoy nodded, acquiescing. "Did you know triads are more powerful than regular couples? Though it matters which hand-fasting ritual is done."

A low pitched feminine voice drifted to them from Malfoy's other side. "Oh, are you talking about hand-fasting rituals? I've seen a few done but they had more elements of a Christian wedding than I thought they would."

Malfoy blinked in surprise before leaning back so both he and Hermione could see the stranger who was settling into her seat on Malfoy's other side. She wore large gold hoop earrings and colourful clothes. A peasant top blouse—without a bra, Hermione noticed-and a long billowy skirt in earthy green tones. She wore golden bangles on one wrist but she'd wrapped a gauzy scarf in and around them to dampen the noise they made. She had a shawl wrapped around her shoulders and a small bag she dropped in her lap once she was still.

"Hi, my name's Stormy Dragonsong and you guys?"

Whether it was an automatic reaction to being asked his name, Hermione didn't know, but Draco introduced both of them. "Draco Malfoy and this is Hermione Lestrange, how do you do?"

Hermione wanted to hex him but they'd all talked and it was decided that there would be no magic on the plane, especially in Hermione's case, since she still wasn't used to her new spell strength.

Stormy smiled and shifted and Hermione got a whiff of hempseed oil. "Oh, you've found your Wiccan names already too?" she asked with an abundance of enthusiasm. "I quite like Draco, it's a bit different."

"He picked it because it's a constellation and he really enjoys star-gazing," Hermione said before Malfoy could answer.

"Oh, what's your zodiac? Mine is Leo because I was born at the beginning of August. Our high priestess says it suits me well."

"Gemini," Malfoy answered without missing a beat. Hermione tipped her head to look at him and he raised an eyebrow at her, challenging her.

"I'm a Virgo," she said.

"What sorts of rituals were you talking about earlier?" Stormy asked, oblivious to any tension between Hermione and Malfoy.

"Hand-fasting and sex rites," he answered despite the warning look Hermione discreetly gave him.

"Oh, that sounds interesting. I've not heard anything about sex magic. Are you part of a coven? I don't want to ask for any esoteric knowledge or anything."

Malfoy glanced back at Hermione, seeming to realize he was out of his depth, so she answered for them. "We're part of a large coven, though the high priestess lives in Scotland. We'll travel if we have need of her expertise and for major holidays. Otherwise, we have small family covens."

"Oh, that sounds wonderful." She lowered her voice, "Do you have a place to go sky-clad for hand-fastings? I've heard about it, but like I said, most hand-fasting I've been too are heavily influenced by Christianity. Probably because most of us are converts."

Hermione wanted to stomp on his foot when he answered with a simple. "Yes, we have places we could go sky-clad, but it's not the norm."

"Really? I'd also heard about, you know, rumours about sex magic and orgies, but our high priestess doesn't believe in that sort of thing."

"Sorry, just a minute," Hermione said to Stormy and tugged on Malfoy's shoulder to bring him closer to her. He smirked and brought his ear to her mouth. "She's Wiccan. Don't tell her too much or you risk breaking the Statue of Secrecy."

He turned and his mouth came close to hers. Instead of moving to her ear, he just whispered so quietly even she hardly heard him. She could feel his lips almost touching hers. "I know. But if she believes in her own brand of magic, telling her about ours won't be a problem. She's obviously delusional anyway." He leaned back and looked her in the eyes, amusement on his features.

The flight attendant picked that moment to call everyone's attention.

"I'll talk to you after we get in the air," Malfoy said to Stormy.

They listened to the flight attendant go through all the emergency procedures. Then they taxied into position and went through take-off. Hermione gripped the seat's armrest tightly until Malfoy grabbed her hand and held it with his. He didn't even grimace when she squeezed and pressed her short nails into the thin skin on the back of his hand so hard that she left marks. Once they'd levelled out Hermione released his hand meaning to pull away, but he kept it in a loose hold. It made Hermione feel weird and slightly uncomfortable to realise that she was holding hands with Malfoy.

He turned back to Stormy. "Sorry, what was it you had asked about?"

"Oh umm," she glanced at where he was still holding Hermione's hand and blushed slightly. "Rumors about sex magic and orgies," she said sounding slightly nervous. Hermione realised that when Malfoy had introduced them with different last names, the girl had thought him single and might have even been flirting by asking about sex magic. Now that he'd taken the initiative to hold Hermione's hand, he was showing her that he wasn't single. It seemed strange to Hermione to flirt by asking about information, but maybe she didn't really know how to flirt properly. Her situation had been far from normal.

"Well, I'm not sure about orgies, but I know about virgin rites and triadic relations that can get quite kinky."

"What are 'virgin rites'?" Stormy asked.

Hermione didn't particularly want to know about either, but it was technical knowledge, as long as Malfoy wasn't making it up as he went along, so she listened in spite of herself.

"Well," he began, "Virgin rites are a type of blood magic, really, and if done properly can open up more power for a wizard or a witch, or both. Most often, the wizard would take the power without thought."

"How does that work? I mean, I'm not a virgin any more but it's still interesting to learn."

"If the wizard is in control of penetration, he gets the power boost. His spells will be stronger, especially if they are used to protect his family. If a witch is in control of penetration, she gets the extra strength, but instead of defence, like for the wizard, her strength will be in offence. Protecting her family from threats and preventing harm by attacking first. I think the Mug-ah, umm, layman's way of describing it is 'mama bear syndrome."

"That's really interesting. But, you mentioned a third option, didn't you? How does that work? If the guy's a virgin too?"

He shook his head, "No, it's still about who's in control of penetration. A wizard losing his virginity doesn't shed blood, there's no blood magic there."

Stormy's brown eyebrows bunched together and she reached up and fluffed her brown wavy hair. "I, uh, still don't understand, how can both be in control of penetration?"

But Hermione knew and understood. Thoughts of that first time with Lestrange flittered through her mind. _You're in charge of how you lose your maidenhead._ He'd said. _You are in control_. But she hadn't done it completely, he'd encouraged her, tried to get her to go all the way but she didn't. He had taken over. That was how both could be in control. One partner giving up control halfway through. Lestrange had meant for her to gain power, not take it for himself.

Before she realised she was speaking, Hermione answered Stormy's question. "It's sensual. Lovemaking. Halfway into the motion, one partner gives up control to the other."

"But I still..."

Hermione specifically didn't mention that it was a different man than Malfoy. "He was sitting and I was over his lap. I moved downward and stopped before being..." she canted her head as she thought about the proper word choice, "Before being fully seated and he brought his hips up to meet mine. I gave up control halfway through." She could see out of the corner of her eye as Malfoy seemed to take in that information—both said and unsaid.

"Yes. That's one of the best positions for it," he agreed. "It's an equal give and take and it shares the power. That sort of rite portends the best marriages. It's said that if a couple conceives a child during a virgin rite, that it will be a powerful child, but that might be speculation. Unless the rite is the only time a couple has sex during a witch's fertile time, it's almost impossible to know if conception occurred during the rite."

"Oh," Stormy said, looking back and forth between them, obviously assuming Hermione was talking about Malfoy. There seemed to be an awkward silence between the three of them and Hermione turned to look out the window. Stormy, however, still seemed to either be clinging to flirting or curiosity. "You mentioned something about triadic relations getting kinky. Do they require a virgin?"

Malfoy went on to talk about how though there wasn't a power increase, there was something like a power exchange when three people gave themselves fully to each other. He didn't specify if he meant just bodily or if he meant emotionally as well. Hermione had a better time of blocking him out as he was talking about that.

She closed her eyes and listened to the tones of Malfoy's voice. It wasn't unpleasant but she was sure he would be an absolute pain in the bum to live with for three weeks. She'd just have to focus all of her intellect on finding her parents quickly and efficiently. Lifting the Memory-Modifying Charm was going to be the hard part. When his voice stopped and a clicking sound started, Hermione opened her eyes.

Stormy had started knitting with hot pink, plastic needles and Malfoy had leaned back and closed his eyes. When he felt her move, he glanced at her and leaned closer. "How long is this flight?"

"Twelve hours."

"This is going to be a long twelve hours."

"I know. Our sleep schedules going to be really wonky for a while too. We'll have jet lag."

"I didn't sleep well last night, so I might try to nap during. So long as she doesn't start asking more questions."

"You encouraged her," she said back, grinning. He grinned in reply. "Nightmares?" she asked.

He nodded. "Lestrange mentioned yours were coming back. Did the potions help?" His voice was low, but Hermione still glanced at Stormy. She moved slightly and Hermione noticed wires coming from her ears. She was wearing headphones.

"Which potions?"

"The anti-nausea ones are made with similar ingredients to Dreamless Sleep."

"Oh. Well, that explains why they had tapered off for a while. When I finally started taking that one regularly."

"I brought a few things. All charmed in non-breakables, of course. Mother made sure everything I packed was safe for a pregnant witch, so anything I have is yours." He squeezed her hand again.

She swallowed, uncomfortable with the phrasing. She nodded and leaned her head back against her seat. She closed her eyes, not expecting to sleep. She slept anyway.

 *** . * . ***

 **Tuesday, 11 August 1998**

Hermione was grateful when they finally landed. There had been turbulence sometime during the flight and it had made her anxious and she didn't feel calm until she had her feet planted firmly on solid ground again. Malfoy's behaviour had made her feel topsy-turvy as well. He was polite, considerate, and almost sweet. She didn't know what to make of him. Was this an act? Had he changed so dramatically since she'd last shared a class with him? Was this someone else and she just hadn't noticed him drink from a flask of Polyjuice yet?

The sky was lit with early morning sun when they were finally out of the airport and even though she'd slept on the plane, she felt exhausted.

"We need to get that car rental and find the hotel," she told Malfoy. He grunted an agreement and she wondered if he'd slept any on the plane. He was probably feeling the effects of sitting in an enclosed space for so long as well.

"I obviously don't know how to drive an automobile. Do you think we can charm it to work?"

"I can drive, though now that I think about it, I don't know if my British license will be enough to please the authorities," she said.

"Confound them if necessary and let's go. I want to sleep."

"You're not supposed to sleep until the locals in your destination are going to bed, it's to help with the jet lag."

"I don't care. I'm grouchy and snappish when I'm sleep-deprived and I don't want you to suffer that. Not that you would. I don't want the hexing that would come from that." Then he muttered, "Moving entire bookshelves."

"It wasn't just bookshelves," she said as they gathered their baggage and headed to the car hire window. "At the Burrow, I tried to scour the dinner plates and broke them."

"Broke them?" he asked, squinting at her.

"Turned them bright white and broke them. The whole stack. Mrs Weasley just laughed and said that's what colour they were when they'd received them. She repaired them just fine, though."

"I didn't know you could clean something so hard it could break. Is any of your other magic wonky?"

"Not that I know of. I don't cast very often in my day-to-day."

"Really?" he asked, shocked.

They paused their magic talk while Hermione talked with the clerk and got the automobile situation under control. She also got directions to the hotel. They made one more stop at a currency exchange window and then headed out into the car park. Once outside, they realised that it was quite cold out.

"Try now," Malfoy said, "Cast one of the Warm Air Charms to warm us up while we find this blasted iron thing."

"It's not an iron thing, not really, I don't think," she mumbled. "I'd be worried about setting us on fire with the way my last few spells have gone. Let's just get in the car and get the heater running."

Malfoy grumbled and cast a Warm Air Charm over the both of them himself. "No use walking in the cold if you can help it. How can you not cast in your day-to-day, as you put it? I cast that Warm Air Charm to dry myself after a shower and dry my hair."

"That spell makes my hair frizz even worse than normal."

" _Is_ there a worse than normal when it comes to your hair?" he asked, and although it was like one of his normal quips about her hair, he was grinning at her when he said it which made the whole thing sound like a tease instead of a taunt.

She located the car and settled in. After adjusting the seat and mirrors she took a deep, calming breath and started the car. Malfoy jerked in his seat and grabbed at the door like he wanted to jump out. She turned to look at him, noticing he hadn't fastened his seatbelt. That wasn't the most pressing thing, though, he had pushed himself up against the door and against the seat as far as he could get away from the noise of the engine rumbling. She wanted to laugh but decided mocking him because he was scared wouldn't do anyone any good.

"It's okay Malfoy, really," she tried to calm him. "Sit back down in the seat and I'll show you how to fasten your seatbelt."

"It's growling at us." He pointed towards the front of the car.

"It's a machine, it's not growling." She frowned trying to think of how to explain contained combustion. "You know how when you first cast the Fire-Making Charm, there's that flash and pop as the fire starts?"

He looked at her with wide eyes, his gaze asking if she'd gone barmy when he wasn't looking. "What does that have to do with anything?"

"Hidden inside the pretty blue painted parts is a contraption that is continuously starting a fire, over and over. The rumbling sound is from that. There are a lot of moving parts that add to the sounds, but it's all perfectly safe. It's not going to harm you." She didn't think it prudent to include the caveat _unless we get into an accident_. "Relax, let's fasten your seatbelt so I can get us to the hotel."

He settled into the seat and she tried to explain what the seatbelt was and how to use it. He floundered with it and couldn't get it to snap into place. Hermione sighed, unfastened hers and got out of the car. She walked around to his door, opened it, and leaned over to fasten his seatbelt for him. It wasn't until she felt his breath puff against her neck that she even thought he might have been pretending. She stood back up slowly and looked at him.

"Was that what you were hoping for?" she asked.

She watched him swallow and lick his lips. "Better."

"You're ridiculous," she said, shaking her head as she closed his door and went back to her side. The drive to the hotel was without incident.

Malfoy took charge after she parked the car. Pulling their luggage from the back. "Don't they have a bellhop to carry it for us?"

"I don't know, probably once we get into the lobby." They carried their luggage into the lobby were a bellhop immediately started setting it on a trolley for them. Malfoy seemed in his element as he strode through the lobby towards the front desk, and Hermione was, again, reminded of his father in the way he spoke to the clerk. They were shown upstairs by the bellhop and Malfoy even knew to tip the boy. Hermione cringed, expecting him to either under or over-tip, but the fiver that transferred hands seemed appropriate.

"I'm going to take a bath before I sleep," she announced.

"Let me shower first?" he asked, sounding genuine. "I know we didn't actually do anything to get dirty, but being in that aeroplane for so long made me feel filthy, especially the loo. I promise I won't take long."

She conceded and sat down on the sofa and turned on the telly. She kept the volume low, even as she checked the local weather. She didn't realise Malfoy had finished his shower until she felt hot, moist air drift her way from the open bathroom door.

"Umm, Granger?" he called from the bedroom.

"Hmm?" she asked from where she'd curled up under a throw blanket on the sofa.

"Bath's free. Did you want to try casting a Duplication Charm on the bed?" She grunted as she stood, flinging her arms wide as she felt suddenly off balance. He poked his head out the doorway. "You all right?"

"Lost my balance. I'm fine now," she said, covering her mouth as she yawned. She walked into the bedroom and realised the problem in their plan. The bed was huge and there wasn't enough space in the room to house two of them. "Two beds that size wouldn't fit in here," she mumbled.

"I realised that."

"I'll sleep on the sofa, it was comfortable enough."

"Don't be foolish. I'm not letting a pregnant witch sleep on the living room furniture when there's enough room in the bed for both of us."

She noticed how he didn't offer to sleep on the sofa himself. Slytherin prat. She walked closer to the bed to look at the items placed in a basket on the corner. "Romantic gifts for expecting parents, compliments of the hotel," she read.

"What sort of romantic gifts?" Malfoy walked up beside her. Hermione could feel the damp heat of his skin. He smelled clean, with just a hint of cologne. His hair was still wet, she noticed.

"No Warm Air Charm?" she asked.

He grinned as he looked back at her. "The towels are extra fluffy." He was wearing different clothes, silken shirt and matching pyjama bottoms, patterned with blue stripes. "What's in the basket?"

"Scented body lotion for stretch marks, a book about _keeping passion alive_ ," she snorted in amusement, poking through the things as she identified them, "sparkling grape juice, sweets, massage oil, personal lubricant, and a box of fake rose petals."

Malfoy hummed. "Do you think the personal lubricant—that's a Muggle euphemism, right?—do you think it feels like a Lubrication Charm?"

"I don't know how a Lubrication Charm feels nor do I know how the Muggle variant feels. If you want to keep it and test it out yourself, by all means," she offered. "I reserve the rights to the lotion, some of the sweets and grape juice."

"You don't want the book? I could use the oil on you," he said.

"No thank you. I'm going to take a bath now."

"We didn't decide on the bed. I won't make a move on you, I really just want to sleep."

Hermione looked at the monstrous bed and nodded. "I prefer the right side," she said before she gathered a few things from her trunk and went to take a long, warm bath.

 *** . * . ***

Hermione might have dozed in the bathtub. She didn't really care. She got out, dried, and dressed and returned to the bedroom. Malfoy was already asleep, sprawled out on his back like a starfish but mainly on his side. She crawled under the duvet on her side and fell asleep.

When she woke, the sunlight coming into the room announced that it was mid-afternoon. Hermione stretched and started to roll over when she realised someone was touching her. He hadn't moved or made a noise when she'd stretched, so she didn't know if he was awake or not, but she could feel him breathing behind her. He'd curled up around her back and laid his hand over her baby bump.

She sighed, unsure of how she felt about this development. Was Malfoy a cuddler? Why was he so intent to touch her stomach? Had he never seen a pregnant woman before? That might be the case. He was an only child and if most witches never left their homes during pregnancy, he might just be fascinated by it. The fact that he took liberties with her body was a little annoying, despite the fact that he had asked the first time.

"Malfoy," she whispered, not sure if he was awake or not. She assumed not, since she had to say his name two more times before he jerked and half snorted in her ear. He didn't remove his hand or roll away from her, however. Instead, he seemed to burrow down under the covers to spoon with her more closely. "Malfoy, we need to get up. Sleeping the day away won't help with the jet lag."

He made an incoherent grumbling noise and pressed his body against hers. That's when she noticed something a bit hard pressing against her bum. When she'd read about sex and pregnancy, she'd stumbled across information about morning erections as well as nocturnal emissions but she never thought she'd have to deal with them. Especially not from Malfoy.

"Malfoy," she said more sternly, "stop pressing your erection into my bum. I need to get up and wee and we need to get out of bed. We've got things to accomplish today."

He pressed against her again, almost rocking into her a few times before he stopped abruptly. He must not have actually been awake before. He rolled away from her immediately when he was. "Sorry," he murmured. He stifled a yawn. "Did you say you needed to use the loo?"

"Yeah," she answered and got up. She padded into the bathroom to do her business and washed her hands. When she came back out, he'd dressed. They traded spaces, with her dressing in the bedroom and him in the bathroom.

When he emerged, looking more his normal self, she pulled the notepad and pen next to the suite telephone over to the table and sat down, poised to write her thoughts. "I suppose we could look in directory assistance and a telephone book to find my parents' phone number, address, and business address." She jotted those things down as she worked through her thoughts out loud. After we've located them, I'll need to go and speak with them. Maybe introduce you as a doctor's assistant, to get them to trust you to, I don't know, hypnotise them while you look at the memory block."

He nodded. "Can we order food, first? I'm starving. And while we're eating I need you to tell me everything you remember about the spell or spells you cast."

She realised that was the best line of thought when her stomach rumbled in agreement.


	9. Chapter 9

**Wednesday, 12 August 1998**

The first day was for preliminary research and decision-making. Hermione found a recent telephone book in the hotel room and found the name she'd given her parents easily enough. Though by then it was dinner and she didn't feel right calling and interrupting. That's what she'd told Malfoy, in any case. She suspected he recognised it as a lie but he didn't call her on it. She was procrastinating, which was so very unlike her. It was just that the idea of seeing her parents face to face and them not recognizing her, terrified her. She hadn't thought about it too much at the time she'd cast the spell, eager to get them out of harm's way, but now, the thought of it loomed large in her mind, making her fidget and pace.

Malfoy had threatened to use the massage oil on her until she relaxed of her own volition and by then it was late enough that they should go to bed again so they would be on schedule with most of the locals. It took a long time for Hermione to fall asleep. Malfoy had fallen asleep easily enough and then curled around her wrapping himself around her like seaweed.

Malfoy was out of the bed before she was the following morning and he'd taken the liberty to order a mountain of food for breakfast. It was the delivery of room service that woke her. She got dressed and tamed her hair as best she could before exiting the bedroom. "Hungry, Malfoy?"

"I didn't know what you'd like. Plus you didn't eat very much the last few days. I think the last time I saw you finish your plate was when we had lunch on Saturday. So sit," he said, his tone half commanding and half gentle, "Eat. Eat for two!"

She rolled her eyes and did so. After breakfast, Malfoy passed her the telephone. "They'll be a work now," she tried to argue.

"If they don't answer, you can call their business. Or the other way around, call the business first if you want. No arguments this time."

So she did. She called the number they had found for the Wilkins Dentistry first. She took a calming breath as the last number sounded and she waited for the normal ringing sound. Instead, there was a beep and an automated voice telling her the number was no longer in service. She frowned, hung up, and tried again. Still, not in service. Finally, she looked up and tried to explain it to Malfoy.

"So, it's like their Floo had been disconnected?"

She thought about it and nodded, "Yes, that's a basic analogy. Not completely accurate because I don't think one pays to be connected by Floo, do they?"

"No, but you have to purchase Floo Powder from an authorised dry potioneer."

"Hmm," was all Hermione said. Then she picked up the phone and dialled the home number they'd found. Once she'd found her courage, she wouldn't let it slip through her fingers. This call actually rang and was answered by a woman's voice after the third ring.

"'Ello?" a voice with a thick Australian accent answered. Obviously not her mother, Hermione was dumbfounded for a moment. She recovered quickly when the woman said the greeting again.

"Yes, sorry. I was wondering if this was," she paused to pull the notepad closer to her and read the digits of the phone number, "and the Wilkins residence, is it?"

"The number's right, but there's no one here by that name."

Hermione almost apologised for calling the wrong number before hanging up when the woman said something else.

"Though it might have been before. My boyfriend left me with our two kids, you see, and I'm just now moved into the apartment here. Just got the phone. It could be that the phone company recycled the number."

Hermione then asked if the address she had, from the telephone book, was different as well. It was. So Hermione apologised for bothering the woman, who said it was no problem, and then hung up.

She was confused. And worried. And upset. And when she looked up at Malfoy, being calm and considerate and looking at her worriedly and being _nice_ of all things, she broke down and cried. She sobbed heavily, unsure if anything she said actually made any sense to Malfoy, including her apologies, but he just got up from where he was seated at the other side of the table, came around and wrapped his arms around her and let her cry.

It made her cry all the more.

When her sobs became sniffles. Sniffles that were more clogged than free, Malfoy leaned back and asked if she'd like him to use a spell to help clear her sinuses. She nodded and he did, even though she flinched just slightly when he pointed his wand at her face.

"Time for another bath and maybe a nap, I think," he suggested, and she felt so drained that she followed his advice without complaint. She slept through lunch and woke in the early afternoon, embarrassed but ready to tackle the problem again. Maybe they needed boots on the ground, so to speak. In any case, she wanted to get out of that hotel room. When she broached the topic with Malfoy he agreed.

"Should have let me bring my dressier clothes, so we could go out properly."

"Right now, I think I'd be willing to eat fast food just to get some air, but I don't think all the grease will sit well on my stomach."

He didn't know what fast food was, she didn't think, but he didn't bring it up as they headed to the lifts and out of the hotel. The first stop, they realised, would be a clothing store, to purchase winter coats. From there, they walked aimlessly until they found a pub that wasn't too hazy with smoke.

"You shouldn't be breathing in the smoke," he muttered when she'd suggested it.

"I don't think a Bubble-Head Charm would be appropriate. Besides, this one's not so bad." They ate the local fair, though Hermione was a little reluctant, and talked over their options.

"Well, the telephone book must be out of date," she concluded.

"Out of date?" he repeated.

"It's printed once a year, to keep everyone's contact information current. Muggles tend to move house a lot, not very many have dynastic manor homes like yours and Lestrange's. My parents sold their parents' homes after my grandparents died, and aside from sentimental memories of my childhood, I'd would had little problem selling my parents' home in London."

"What did you do with it?" Malfoy asked. Hermione grinned because his question brought to mind shrinking it down and carrying it with her like she'd done with almost everything else she'd owned.

"Packed it up and set the deed in a safe deposit box. For when they come back."

"Okay, so if the telephone book was out of date, then why did the hotel keep it?"

"I don't know, maybe my parents moved after the newest copy was printed. It's been over a year since I sent them here. They could be anywhere by now."

"Not anywhere. If your charmwork held, they would have stayed in Australia. Maybe not Sydney, but definitely still within the country."

"Do you have any idea how big a country Australia is, Malfoy?"

He frowned. But most of the population is on the coasts, right? No one really lives in the middle, do they?"

"I'm sure someone does, though I'm most live near the coasts at least." She dropped her head into her hands and murmured, "I didn't do enough research."

"We'll figure things out. Where would you go to disconnect the telephone? Who would one contact to recycle a phone number?"

"The telephone company."

"Then we'll start there tomorrow. Let's head back to the hotel," he suggested. "Maybe you'll let me used that massage oil on you."

"In your dreams, Malfoy."

His low chuckle worried her. "Let's not talk about those tonight. Maybe I can rub your lotion on your belly?" he asked, sounding almost hopeful. "I do have a salve that's suppose to do the same thing."

"The salve will probably work better."

"It's not as runny as the lotion, it won't be as easy to apply."

"Why do you want to touch me, Malfoy?" She wanted to tack on the reasons she thought he wouldn't, like her being Muggle-born, but she didn't. "Why are you so fascinated with my belly?"

"I've never seen a pregnant witch," was all he said, though he shrugged. Hermione got the impression that he had more to say but had decided not to share.

Back at the hotel, she took a shower and then dressed for bed. He had pulled out the salve and raised his eyebrows and she'd leaned back in the bed and pulled up her top. She almost jumped out of the bed when he tugged the top of her pyjama bottoms down, but he'd only folded them down to reach the lower curve of her stomach.

"Relax, I promise I won't hurt you."

She snorted, disbelief colouring the sound.

"I can give you something to prove it," he said. There was a hint of something in his eyes, not malicious exactly, but not quite innocent.

"What could you give me to prove you won't hurt me? It took a long time for me to realise you weren't poisoning me when Lestrange told me those potions were from you and your mother."

"I'm here with you, you know. That's one thing." He stood and set the salve on the bedside table and went to the bag that Hermione knew held his pants and potions. He pulled out two small black boxes, covered in velvet. They looked like jewellery boxes but that couldn't be right. What could giving her jewellery prove about not wanting to hurt her?

He came back and knelt beside the bed, lowering himself. He raised both boxes and set them on her lap. Her stomach was still bare so she tugged her shirt down. He gestured with a raise of his eyebrows for her to open the boxes.

She did and gasped at their contents. Inside one was a pair of earrings. A single large cream-coloured pearl, with a small fan of diamonds set in platinum behind it. They were beautiful. The second box held a bangle, decorated with cream coloured pearls all around, interspersed with diamonds and onyxes, set in platinum. Both reminded her of the necklace she wore around her neck and couldn't remove.

She raised a finger to touch the bracelet and then the necklace, feeling her brows scrunch in confusion. "What...?" she tried to ask, unsure of how to articulate her question.

"The earrings are Malfoy betrothal jewellery, the bracelet is blended betrothal jewellery. The bracelet had to be custom made because it's blended, but there were enough similarities that it doesn't detract from the piece."

"Similarities?"

"Lestrange jewellery is platinum, diamonds, and onyxes. Malfoy jewellery is platinum, diamonds, and pearls. It took a few weeks to design but it was ready by the time I formally asked Lestrange for the blended betrothal." He paused and looked her in the eye. "I won't hurt you because I want to marry you." He sounded sincere and heartfelt and Hermione didn't know how to react. She just stared at him and when she couldn't handle the eye contact or the almost pleading look in his eyes any more, she looked back at the jewellery.

A nagging thought surfaced in her mind and she spoke without thinking. "If you only showed me these to get me to have sex with you, you can think again Malfoy." The sincerity in his eyes shut off like she'd turned off the tap and he pursed his lips.

She expected him to lash out, say something rude or get defensive. Instead, he just clenched his teeth and stood up. He picked up the salve he and his mother had brewed to prevent stretch marks and handed it to her. He then turned and walked out of the bedroom. She heard the outer door open and close as he left the suite.

Hermione looked back down at the jewellery. She wondered if he was going to get a Portkey and leave her here but dismissed the idea seeing as how he left both the really expensive jewellery and all of his clothes.

She closed the jewellery boxes and returned them to his luggage, laying them on top of his neatly folded shorts. She didn't bother with the salve either. Instead, she used the Muggle lotion even though she doubted it's effectiveness. Afterwards, she turned out the lights and went to sleep.

 *** . * . ***

 **Thursday, 13 August 1998**

He wasn't back when she woke up and she didn't want it to worry her, but it did. She spent the majority of the morning researching the telephone companies. She even went so far as to call all twenty-seven moving companies listed in the telephone book and ask if any of them had moved a 'Wilkins' family in the past year. Most of those calls had been dead ends because the companies said they didn't want to give out information like that. She tried to bribe them by mentioning why she was searching for the family. She claimed that she and her parents had had a big row regarding a boyfriend in school and she hadn't talked to them in a year. She'd finally come to her senses now, but couldn't find them at their old address. It was close enough to the truth that she didn't have a problem sharing it. Not all of the people she talked to sounded all that sympathetic to her cause. None of them, even those that had looked through their files, gave her any results, however.

Hermione worked through lunch, brainstorming ideas on how to locate people. She wished there was a spell she could use to find a person but doubted one existed. She wondered how difficult it would be to travel to all the major metropolitan areas in Australia and to search all of the telephone books she could find. Maybe a local library would have more?

The door of the suite creaked before it unlocked and opened and Malfoy came in. He looked a little dishevelled but otherwise unharmed. Hermione didn't know what to say to him, so she said nothing. He barely looked at her as he passed on his way to the bedroom and then the bathroom, bent on taking a shower it seemed. Before he shut the door completely he called out to her, "Order room service."

She frowned and glanced out the window, wondering when it had grown dark. She did as he asked, ordering a variety of things on the simple menu. She went straight back to brainstorming travel times. It would be much easier to Apparate, of course, but she couldn't Apparate somewhere blindly.

The wet heat of the shower rolled out of the bathroom minutes before the knock on the door signified dinner. Hermione figured Malfoy would get it and finished writing out her thought. He didn't. The deliverer knocked again and Hermione got up to answer the door. She let them push the cart of food into the room and groped for her bag for a tip when Malfoy came out holding money. He handed it to the deliverer who nodded and left, closing the hotel door behind them.

"Didn't think to get the tip ready before they got here?" He asked. His voice was cool and sarcastic but not scathing and not hateful like she expected.

She didn't have much to say on the topic so changed it, "I didn't know what you'd like, so I got a variety. I'll clear you a spot at the table," she said walking over to the table to start stacking her papers and notes away.

"You could just spell it away, you know," he said.

"And risk setting it on fire, for all I know? No, it's best if I don't use my magic unless absolutely necessary," she said, not even realising she'd come to that conclusion until it was out of her mouth.

"Are you scared of it?"

"I moved a library bookshelf with a Summoning Charm and a broke a stack of ceramic plates with a Scouring Charm. There's no telling what I could damage, destroy, or harm next. No, I'm not scared of it, I'm being practical. Next time I'm some place safe that's not a Muggle hotel, then I'll try it."

He didn't respond to that but he did levitate the serving dishes to the cleared table and serve their plates. She muttered her thanks but there was no more conversation during dinner.

"I was thinking," she started to say after dinner, "that maybe we could connect with the Wizarding population here. If I could venture into each metropolis and get telephone books maybe I'd find where they'd moved to."

"I can't think of a more roundabout solution than that," he said, rolling his eyes at her idea.

"I called every single moving company in the telephone book. None of the ones that would tell me anything had dealt with my parents and my parents aren't the sort of people to move house on their own. It's... They have enough money to hire someone for that sort of thing. Did you have any ideas?"

He shook his head.

She frowned at that. "What did you do all day, then?"

He raised an eyebrow, "Nosy, much?" he asked.

"Well, you were gone all night."

"And I'd think that the woman who laughed in the wake of my proposal wouldn't give two bloody fuc—"

"That was a proposal?" She asked, almost shouting over him.

"Yes! That was a bloody proposal! What did you think it was? An invitation to dinner?"

"I was under the impression that I didn't get a proposal, Malfoy. Lestrange's life debt claimed me and you had to ask him. What's it matter? If I married him then you'd just tag along anyway, right? That's how a blended betrothal works or was I misled _again?_ "

"What do you mean _if_?"

"Just that. _If_. That law that says if I'm not in a courtship isn't so much a law as a suggestion. I don't have to marry him. Which means I don't have to marry you."

"You're wearing his jewellery," he pointed at her as if she didn't know she was wearing it.

She flushed. "I haven't brought it to his attention yet that I know I don't have to marry him. You see, he already _knows_ , he just doesn't know that I know."

His shoulders slumped. "When... Why... Why would you lead him on that way?" he finally asked, his voice quiet and confused.

"What?"

"Why did you accept his jewellery, and you had to accept it, that's how it _works_ , why did you formally accept it if you didn't plan on marrying him? Why would you want to hurt him like that?"

"Hurt him? Are you under the impression that this, _this_ —" she pointed at her rounded stomach,"—was anything less than a Slytherin business deal? There was no courtship, no secret romance. I was requested into his holding cell in the Ministry, which was no bigger than the bathroom in here, to a man who was foul and unwashed from the most significant battle of my life who demanded that I give up my virginity, give up my plans for life, and carry his child because he pulled me from a falling wall. _I would have rather died from the wall._ " She closed her mouth tightly when she realised what she'd said. It wasn't untrue, not really, but she'd never given the words life by saying them out loud before. She looked up at Malfoy, unsure of what she expected to see on his face.

He looked stunned and slightly confused. "And..." he mumbled like he wanted to add something. Instead, he just shook his head, seemingly disgusted. "I had no idea you could be so clueless or so cruel." He stood and removed himself to the bedroom.

Hermione just continued to sit at the table, staring unseeing at the dirty plates. When she finally decided she should sleep, she washed up in the bathroom and slept in her clothes on the sofa, unwilling to be cuddled in her sleep.


	10. Chapter 10

**Tuesday, 25 August 1998**

Hermione had no idea it was possible to avoid someone so much when you shared the same space with them. She and Malfoy spent the next week and a half at odds with one another. Some days he would leave the room early in the morning and not return until after dinner. Other days he spent the day in the living room channel surfing on the telly. Hermione didn't know when he'd figured out how to even turn it on but she knew he wasn't stupid.

At lunch on the last Tuesday there, Hermione was thinking about extending her trip. Malfoy had gone out again that morning and she had exhausted every single idea she had. She'd called directory assistance, she'd spent two days going into county clerks office with Malfoy tagging along, silent as usual, as she asked as many different government offices as she could think of and find, but there had been no one to answer her questions.

The door opened and Malfoy walked in, only to stop short in front of her. "Get your coat, I've got a lead."

She blinked up at him, confused. "You... What?"

"What do you think I've been doing when I go out? I've been searching for your parents."

"But you haven't helped me map out the city or given me any ideas! When I tried brainstorming with you, you'd just lock yourself in the bedroom."

He nodded and picked up her coat for her, bringing it to her. "I've been looking in places you wouldn't think to look."

She didn't understand that at all but she stood and let him help her into her coat. She didn't argue as he offered his arm; as soon as she touched him he Disapparated.

They arrived in a small field near a church. It was a tiny building painted yellow with a steeple so tall it made the building look like it would tip over. He tucked her arm over his and escorted her to the front doors and knocked. The doors opened and a young man, not much older than she and Malfoy, greeted them, "Mr Malfoy." He smiled but didn't seem overly happy. "And this is Miss Wilkins?"

"Yes," she answered. "Do you know my parents?"

The boy looked up at Malfoy then, a questioning look in his eye that Hermione didn't understand. "Why don't you come in?" the boy offered. "My name's Ken Bradford, by the way."

He led them to the front of the church and offered her to sit on the fabric-covered, wooden pew. She sat, still feeling confused but there was an undercurrent of tension between the two men that Hermione didn't miss. It made her apprehensive. What's more, is that Malfoy sat close beside her and let his hand slide down to hold hers tightly.

"I met Wendell and Monica Wilkins about a year ago when they were still trying to find a church that reminded them of home. They settled on this one after they attended a few Sundays and found the atmosphere was what they were seeking. Seems there was something else as well."

"What do you mean?"

"Well, sometimes, they would get this far away look in their eyes and talk about a daughter that had gone missing named Jean. Mr Malfoy said it was a side effect of high dose medication they were taking for health reasons. Mr Malfoy told me your name is Jean?" he asked, raising his eyebrows.

She wondered how Malfoy'd learned that but let the thought pass quickly. This man knew where her parents were! She nodded, unsure of trusting her voice.

"The name of the church is Saint Jean's; it seems they found something that reminded them of their missing daughter here," he smiled sadly again. Something felt wrong; why was he sad?

"I didn't speak with them often, as I was usually busy organising the choir, but the few times we spoke they seemed like wonderful people if a little bit lost. They spent a lot of time working with the little children." That tiny sense of dread she'd been feeling coalesced into something heavier and made her stomach flip nervously.

"I'm sorry to have to be the one to tell you, but Monica and Wendell were killed in an automobile accident about seven months ago. They were loved by our little congregation and we came together to pay all the expenses. We had no idea that they had family in England, or we'd have tried to notify you. They're buried in the church's graveyard just beyond the ridge. I can take you to them if you like."

Hermione couldn't breathe. She just stared blankly at Bradford. There was a sound, something loud and roaring in her ears that she couldn't identify; darkness seemed to creep up along the sides of her vision and everything turned fuzzy before going black.

 *** . * . ***

Hermione didn't know where she was when she woke up. She blinked and looked around, hoping to get a clue. It looked like she was in a little office on a worn sofa. What made her confused was the warmth of her hand. She squeezed it, trying to ascertain why it was so warm, and something squeezed back.

No. Not something. Someone.

She looked in the direction she assumed he was and there was Malfoy. Looking a little lost, holding her hand.

"Are you... I know you're not okay, but physically? Not going to pass out again? I've got a potion if you think you might vomit. Didn't know what to do with you when you fainted on me." His voice was quiet and she assumed the man, Bradford, was somewhere else.

"Is it true? Are they really gone?" she asked.

He didn't say anything but handed her a photograph. It was of her parents, laughing as three toddlers seemed to be using them as a climbing tree.

She felt her eyes prickle at the sight. "They always wanted more children," she murmured. He didn't release her hand. "Have you been to the gravesite?"

"No, once I confirmed that it was them, and there's no doubting you're related to that mess of hair, I came to get you. Bradford out there might need to be _Obliviated_ , seeing as how I couldn't possibly have driven all the way back to the hotel to get you. I figured I'd do it after you talked to him again if you like."

"Was it just a car accident? Really? No foul plot? No Death Eaters?"

He squeezed her hand. "I never heard of any of the Death Eaters being sent to Australia."

She nodded slowly. "I want to see it; I need to see it. The gravesite, the stone if they have one."

He stood and straightened his clothes with one hand then offered it to her, never letting go of the one he held. She allowed him to help her up and let him lead her out of the office. Bradford was across the small sanctuary sweeping and he looked up when they walked out. "I'm sorry I didn't think to offer you the sofa before I told you. I didn't realise you're... I didn't pay attention, I'm sorry," he said, glancing down at her stomach.

She nodded. "Can you take me to the grave?"

"Of course," he said and gestured for them to follow him out a different door than they came in. On the hilltop, he brought them to a row of stones, and then to the one stone on the end. It was a simple, flat stone, carved with their fake names and birthdays. Underneath was a simple line. _Faith is the assurance of things hoped for, the conviction of things not seen. - Hebrews 11:1_.

"Thank you," she whispered to Bradford. He got the hint and left them alone.

"I'm sorry Hermione," Malfoy said. "I didn't want to find them like this but it was an avenue that I know I'd feel I'd miss if I didn't try while we were here. I wanted to help, I really did."

"It's okay," she said, and then shook her head. "It's not okay, not really, but I think you know what I mean. I'm glad you found them."

Hermione didn't know how long they stood together on that hilltop in stillness and silence. If she had been thinking clearly she might have been impressed with how Malfoy didn't fidget, but her mind was elsewhere. Far away in both time and space as she thought about her parents and her childhood. Finally, after what must have been hours, her stomach growled and Malfoy squeezed her hand.

"I think you need to eat some dinner," he told her and he led her back towards the church. He left her outside when he went in to speak once more with Bradford. Hermione wasn't thinking at all. She was just sort of floating, the few thoughts she had scattering to the wind before she could actually acknowledge them. Malfoy came back out and wrapped his arms around her. She didn't even flinch. He Apparated them back to the hotel, where he helped her take off her coat. He gathered some of her pyjamas and set up a bath for her, casting a charm on the tub. Hermione didn't know what it was nor did she care.

"I'll order something for dinner, you take a warm bath, and then we'll eat. After that, you're going to bed. Lestrange is going to kill me for allowing you to sleep on the sofa as much as you have." He poured some of a pearlescent potion he summoned from his luggage into the bath and then gestured for her to do something. It took too long for her to figure out what he expected her to do. "Hermione," he said, speaking in an even softer voice than he had been, "you need to undress to get in the bathtub. You don't need my help to do that, do you?"

She just stood there, staring past him at the wall. Undressed. Right. She was slow to shake her head but she did raise her hand to the hem of her shirt. That was as far as she got before she dropped her hand again. Lost in that horrible non-thinking place inside her mind. He bit his lip before he reached out slowly and took the hem of her shirt in his hands. He raised it an inch and when she didn't fight him off or argue, he pulled it up and over her head. Her body reacted, helping him by lifting her arms, but she didn't even bother to try and cover herself. She heard him sigh and felt him gently turn her around so she faced away from him.

He unhooked her bra and slid it down her arms, then unfastened her jeans. He even pushed them down her hips. She let him help her out of her shoes and socks. He guided her into the tub them. The water was shimmery from the potion and warm. The smell was pleasant, lavender, lilac, and something else that Hermione's mind seemed to whisper smelled sort of like baby powder. She blinked when the door snicked shut behind him.

 *** . * . ***

 **Wednesday, 26 August 1998**

Hermione woke up in the bed, snuggled into Malfoy's embrace. At first, she didn't move because she was shocked at his audacity but then she slowly started piecing together what had happened the day before. After a while, she felt her body sag more into his arms, not particularly caring that she should be upset about him holding her.

She didn't know how long she laid there awake, but finally, her bladder would not let her linger any longer so she eased out of his hold and tiptoed into the bathroom. When she came back, he was awake but still in bed, watching her, his face unreadable. He raised the blanket back up, a universal sign of 'come back to bed' if she'd ever seen one and, not caring any longer about propriety, or rightness, or blended betrothal, or non-weddings, she crawled back into his arms and burrowed close to him, soaking up his body heat and comfort.

They spent the day mostly in bed getting up to use the loo as needed. Malfoy made sure they had plenty of food to keep them fed, but for the most part, neither of them talked nor looked for entertainment elsewhere. Hermione spent most of her time in her thoughts and Malfoy seemed inclined to let her. When it was time for bed, Hermione crawled back in and watched Malfoy climb in on his side. At first, he didn't raise his arm to offer his embrace, but after a moment of contemplation, he did. She wasted no time snuggling against him though she did seem to take a long time to fall asleep.

 _"Harry, no, you can't go out there alone!"_ _Hermione heard herself say. They were in a dark place, somewhere cold. The sound of footsteps could be heard, shuffling closer and then farther away._

 _"You're right, Hermione, I can't. You have to. It's your place." He handed her an axe. It was heavy and bright red and it reminded her of fire alarms at her primary school._

 _"I can't use this!"_

 _"You have to," Ron's voice called but she couldn't see him. He was outside the tent._

 _"What about a wand?"_

 _"Wands are for wizards," Malfoy's teasing voice called. "And you're not a proper wizard are you?"_

 _"I'm a witch!"_

 _Bellatrix's mad cackle rang out, "Witch bitch, bitch witch, they're all the same. Dead now, aren't they? You will be too soon!"_

 _Hermione spun around, suddenly feeling secure with the axe in her hands, heavy though it was. But it wasn't an axe any longer, now it was a shovel._

 _"It's time," Lestrange said into her ear as if he were directly behind her. She felt a shove towards the tent flap but now it was a door instead. Double doors that led to fabric-covered pews._

 _"Let the little children come to me," it was Voldemort's voice now, standing at the pulpit, hands braced as if he were preaching to the empty congregation. Except it wasn't empty. Men, dozens of men in black cloaks and silver masks all stood and turned to look at her. The shovel in her hands was replaced with a bouquet of rotting roses, the smell thick in her nose. When she looked back up, she was walking towards a masked man with long orangey-red hair._

 _"It wasn't red enough for her," she heard Bellatrix giggle from the crowd._

 _Hermione turned again, wanting to run away from all of it. What she saw next was her parents, standing on top of the hill, holding toddlers. The toddlers were dead, their skin cracked and bloated from decay and their eye sockets open but the eyes were deflated._

 _"Your fault," her father said._

 _"Always your fault. You and that magic. We should have thrown you out," her mother said with anger in her voice._

 _"We wanted them, we never wanted you. Didn't you know that?" her father said again._

 _"It's time," Harry said, handing her an axe. She looked back up at her parents, and they were blooded and dead. Half oozing skeletons, with broken ribs and feet. Walking, shuffling, towards her. "You have to do this, Hermione, it's your place." She raised the axe above her head and brought it down, splitting her father's skull. What was left of his brains slipped out over the shovel._

 _"You missed!" Her mother's dead body shouted with glee, giggling like mad Bellatrix._

 _Then her father's body started shaking its shoulders like it was coughing. "Huffh, huffh, huffh, huffh."_

Her eyes flew opened and she gasped again, realising the sound was coming from her own mouth. Her body was covered in sweat and yet she was cold and she felt ill like she hadn't in several weeks. She bolted from the bed into the bathroom, not caring that the shower was running or that Malfoy must be in it. She vomited twice before she sank to the floor, gagging once more once the moist heat of the bathroom air settled on her skin.

The shower had stopped, but he hadn't moved the curtain. "Hermione?"

She didn't answer.

Malfoy peeked his head around the shower to look at her sprawled out next to the toilet. When he saw she had her eyes closed, he pushed the curtain aside and stepped out. He grabbed a towel and wrapped it around his waist before he knelt down beside her.

"Granger?" he asked again. "What's wrong?"

Finally, she cracked her eyelids open to look at him, flesh slightly pink from the shower, wet hair plastered to his head. Not dead. He wasn't dead. Her parents were, though, and that was what had probably triggered the dream.

"Nightmare."

"Do you need the anti-nausea potion?"

She nodded with the least amount of movement she could get away with.

"Headache too?"

"Yes," she whispered.

"And pain relief for the sore throat. You'll need to get back in the bed for that one."

"Don't want to; it's hot."

"Okay," he said. He put his hands on her forehead in a gesture that seemed so utterly foreign to him that Hermione was almost sure he was someone else using Polyjuice. When she couldn't think of a thing to ask him, she gave up. Who would care that she was in a bathroom with a naked Malfoy, sick and dependent on him for potions. The whole thing sounded ridiculous. It dawned on her then that the gesture might have been one his mother used on him when he wasn't feeling well. It made much more sense that way.

He had stepped out and was dressed when he returned with the little blue vial. He had two others in his hand but didn't give those to her until he escorted her to the sofa. Then he handed her both and a glass of water he must have conjured. After he had taken care of her and sat beside her with his arm half around her and half propped on the sofa, he finally asked, "Did you want to talk about your nightmare?"

"I killed them. It's my fault."

"No, your parents died in an automobile accident. You did not kill them. You were busy in Britain winning a war."

"I sent them here."

"And they could have easily have been killed in a car crash in Britain. It had absolutely nothing to do with you."

"What if I took away or blocked a memory that needed to drive? What if the accident was Dad's fault? That man didn't say whose fault it was, or—or what exactly happened. It could have been Death Eaters, couldn't it have? What about sympathisers, wizards who would have known about me being wanted and decided that—"

"Hermione!" He interrupted. "Hush now. You did not take away their memories about driving. There were no Death Eaters or sympathisers in Australia. You did a good thing sending them here."

"But they were there," she whispered.

"They were where?"

"In the church, and _he_ was there, and I was wearing black and there were dead roses and it was awful!"

"Hermione, have you started talking about your nightmare? Who was there? The Dark Lord?"

She swallowed. "Well, yeah, he was there too, but, no it was Lestrange at the end of the altar and all the Death Eaters in the pews and he'd charmed his hair to look like Ron's but not, and... and then I had to kill my parents with a shovel—no, an axe, and there were dead kids and—"

"Hush," he said gently, raising his hand and wandlessly summoning something else from the bedroom. He caught it, uncorked it with a flick of his thumb, and held it near her lips. "Take this, it's apparent that your nightmare wasn't coherent and you're working yourself into a state." When she didn't make a move to drink it, he brought it closer, pressing it against her bottom lip. "Please, it's just pregnancy-safe Calming Draught."

She finally conceded and let him pour the small vial into her mouth. She took a deep breath in and realised it felt like she hadn't been breathing for a while. She let the calming draught work with the headache-relief, sinking into Malfoy's embrace again.

After they sat there, both sunk into the sofa as the light of the day crept into the windows, Hermione broke the silence. "Do you think my baby will be a squib?"

He shifted next to her and kissed her on the temple. "Absolutely no way any child of yours will be a squib."

"How do you know?" She sounded lost, even to herself.

"Part of my pre-Hogwarts education was memorizing lineages. Squibs are rare and tend to only happen in pureblood families. It's even rarer for squibness to happen when half-blood and Muggle-borns are married into the family. Your magic is powerful, Hermione, and your child's will be too."

Hermione thought his reasoning wasn't very sound but left the discussion lie. She really hadn't been worried about that. Now that she was thinking about her dream in retrospect all she could really remember was her parents being Inferi.

"My nightmare was all sorts of mixed up," she said. "My parents were Inferi and I tried to kill my Dad with an axe; he was still breathing but he was dead. And Mum laughed like Bellatrix when his brain slid out."

"Oh gross," he said, shuddering theatrically.

"I agree. I wish I didn't know what that accurately looked like."

He looked a bit startled at that. "What?" he turned and stared at her incredulously.

"The final battle. I don't know if it was a spell, or if whoever it was only got grazed by something falling, but I saw someone's brains sort of slip out of their bashed open skull. I saw a masked Death Eater take a reflected Entrail-Expelling curse as well."

"I'm very glad that after the fire in the room I sort of hid until the end there. I didn't want to be there."

"I know. I didn't particularly want to be there, either."

He blinked. "What do you mean? It was the final battle; you guys won. You're brave." He said it as if that was a reason for wanting to fight, wanting to be in a battle for life or death.

"I had to be there. For Harry, of course, but for myself as well. Why would I stand down in a fight that was representative of a fight for my very right to exist? The battle might have all been prophecised to be about Harry and Voldemort, but in a real sense, it was my fight too. Being brave doesn't mean I wanted to fight. It just meant I'd fight even though I was scared," she paused, not sure if he understood. She didn't feel quite her normal eloquent, thorough self just then. "Do you understand what I mean about being brave?"

"I've heard the saying before. 'Being brave isn't about being scared, it's about being scared and doing what's right anyway.' Can't say I learned that particular lesson very well. Are you feeling better now? Physically, I mean? I can get some breakfast sent up or we could go out for a walk and breakfast. There's a little café around the corner."

"I think a walk might be nice. Though I'm worried I'll get nauseous again."

"I've got more potion, and I've got pockets. Don't worry. I can take care of you, you know."

She didn't know if that was just in reference to this or to his odd blended betrothal marriage proposal that she bollocks up. She just nodded.

 *** . * . ***

 **Monday, 31 August 1998**

Hermione stood and stretched her back before slipping past the empty seat beside her. She'd given Malfoy the window seat this time, though she wasn't sure why he bothered. They'd decided that since they both could take a mild sleeping draught when they got on the plane that they could take the overnight flight back to Britain. Her bladder was the only thing that woke her up.

She washed up in the tiny little bathroom and looked at herself in the mirror. She didn't look particularly out of sorts, though she still felt that way. She made her way back to her seat and settled in again, glancing over to see Malfoy with his head tipped back in slumber.

He'd been very sweet and kind to her after he found out that her parents had died. He'd taken care of her, given her silence when she needed it. Gave her potions, made sure she ate. She was very grateful that he'd done so because for several days there she didn't remember much. Just a very deep ache in her chest knowing she'd never see her parents again.

As she hoped the sleeping draught would lull her back into slumber she thought about what he'd said. He'd called her clueless and cruel in regards to Lestrange. Her feelings about the father of her child were muddled and she didn't know what to do about it. She wanted to talk with her Mum, of course, but that wasn't going to happen. Mrs Weasley was supportive, even encouraging, but Hermione wasn't sure she was the best woman to talk to about anything either, but she was the closest thing Hermione had to her own mother now.

She felt her eyelids droop and she made a decision. She'd spend some time at the Burrow. She wanted to be away from both Lestrange and Malfoy as they both had her tied up in knots and she didn't want their presence addling her mind any more than they had. She'd spend a week at the Burrow. Talking with Mrs Weasley, getting tentative advice about boys, and solid advice about children. Mrs Weasley would help her.

Hermione put her hand on her baby bump and hummed, falling asleep thinking about what having a child might be like.


	11. Chapter 11

**A/N: This chapter may be triggering, see the bottom of the page for more details.**

* * *

 **Saturday, 5 September 1998**

"Maybe you should stop brooding, son," Randolph's voice floated down from his portrait.

Bass looked up at his father's portrait and sneered. "I am not brooding."

"You've been staring into the fireplace again. Why don't you accept the fact that the Malfoy boy absconded with your betrothed and your unborn child? What did you think would happen, Rabastan? He's had three—"

"Four."

"Four weeks with her alone, a boy her own age, half a world away. If she had any regard for you, she would have found a way to contact you. She doesn't. You made a misjudgement on the Muggle-born. You picked her on a whim, have grown fond of her over a passionate dalliance, but she hasn't returned the sentiment."

"She's wearing my jewellery!"

"I hope you didn't give her your mother's set, Rabastan, because there's no doubt that you won't be getting it back," Randolph said. He pursed his lips to try and change the subject. "Have you found your mother's portrait yet?"

"I would have told you if I had," Bass answered. He propped his elbows on the top of his empty desk and propped his chin on his hands. He struck the pose hoping to antagonise his father and start another row. It was the only thing that kept his mind off the fact that Draco and Hermione had never come back from Australia. He sighed. He missed her dreadfully.

"No, you wouldn't. You would honour her wishes above mine. She didn't want to see my portrait after my death and she probably doesn't want to see me after hers either."

Bass didn't want to argue about his parents' marriage. He hadn't found her portrait and he wondered if she'd had it destroyed or hidden or just never charmed it to work at all. He wanted to speak with her. She would understand about Hermione. She would reassure him that Hermione would come back to him and his only friend hadn't broken ties with him by actually kidnapping her.

The fire flashed green then and Draco's semblance showed in the flames. "Draco!"

"Good evening, Bass. I wonder if I might have a word—"

"Where are you, Draco? What have you done with Hermione? Where is my betrothed?"

Draco blinked and confusion marred his features. "I'm in the Slytherin common room. You know that my sentence required me to finish my education at Hogwarts. Term started at the beginning of the week."

"Then where is Hermione? Did you leave her in Australia?"

"Leave her there? Of course not! What would I be leaving her to? Nightmares and a gravestone? There wasn't anything left to leave her with, Bass!"

"What?"

"What do you mean 'what'? Hasn't she told you?"

"I thought she was still with you. Is she at Hogwarts too?"

He shrugged, though the movement only caused his head to bob in the flames. "Not that I've seen. We didn't find out her parents had died until almost the end of the third week. She was upset. So much that when she was first told, she fainted and then sort of went catatonic, but she'd snapped out of it by the time we flew home. We got back midday on Tuesday, the first. Hermione and I parted after catching a taxi back to the Leaky. I spent the afternoon packing the rest of my things and then apparated on to Hogsmeade that evening for the feast."

Bass felt his chest throb uncomfortably. "She didn't come home," was all he said.

"She didn't accept my offer of betrothal jewellery either. In fact, that's what I wanted to speak with you about. I wanted to rescind—"

"Where do you think she went? The Burrow? The Weasleys? Where Draco?"

Draco was silent for a moment while he seemed to be thinking. "Yeah, probably the Weasleys. She might have gone to Potter, but I don't know if he's living with them or somewhere else."

"Thank you. We'll talk later, please disconnect so I may fire-call the Weasleys."

"But Bass—"

"Please, Draco," he said emphatically.

"Yeah, okay. I'll talk with you later. Tomorrow evening, maybe?"

"That's fine."

Draco nodded and pulled back, ending the fire-call. Bass wasted no time in grabbing a pinch of Floo powder and calling for Molly Weasley at the Burrow.

 *** . * . ***

"Hermione, can you come here dear? You've got a fire-call," Mrs Weasley called up the stairs.

Hermione was wrapped up in a warm blanket on her bed with a book about pregnancy. The little bit of book-browsing she'd done over the past few days had resulted in no books by magical authors about pregnancy. Everything was passed down by tradition and word of mouth. She'd been so worried about her magic being too powerful that she hadn't cast anything since she broke Mrs Weasley's plates.

She sighed and put down her book, wondering who would be fire-calling her. Harry and Ron were out flying, which seemed to be all they ever wanted to do anymore. She couldn't blame them for wanting something normal and fun after the year they'd all had. She headed downstairs. When she got to the kitchen fireplace, she was shocked to see Lestrange's face looking up at her from the flames.

"Hermione," he said. There was a library's worth of emotions wrapped up in that single word.

"I'll just leave you two alone, shall I?" Mrs Weasley smiled and stepped out of the kitchen, but not before putting all the food that was cooking on the stove in stasis.

"Hello, Lestrange," Hermione said as she knelt at the hearth to speak with him.

"I've been worried. You didn't contact me while you were away. I thought you were still in Australia. I heard about your parents; my condolences. How are you holding up?"

There had only been one real question in there but the rapid-fire way he spoke and his tone gave a different meaning. He'd missed her and been upset that she hadn't come back to his house.

"I'm coping, I suppose. Mrs Weasley has been all sorts of helpful. Still worried about my magic and all."

"Worried, is something wrong? Should I escort you to St Mungo's?"

"No, no, I think I'm fine. Mrs Weasley says I'm fine. I just... I'm worried my spells are too strong so I haven't cast anything since I broke her plates."

"You haven't used magic in over a month? How can you manage that? Aren't you living in a Wizarding domicile?"

"I've managed," she answered, shrugging.

"I know I told you—" he paused and his brows came together. "Excuse me a moment," he said and his head disappeared from the flames. The fire-call hadn't disconnected though, so Hermione waited for him.

She had a feeling he was going to ask her to come back to his house. It was nice living there, she supposed, and much of her things were there, but she didn't want to go there now. She had finally started seeing beyond his eminent Slytherinness at how he'd manoeuvred her into the situation she was in, but she still felt resentment because of how he'd opened the door for Malfoy to enter her life as well. It wasn't like she needed to go back to his manor since she'd packed all of her maternity wear to take to Australia. So she hadn't.

Lestrange's face came back into the flames. "I don't mean to alarm you, but there are two men here claiming to be from the Auror department. They've invited themselves into our home and have started destroying things. They're saying they are here on a raid for Dark Artefacts."

Hermione's mind when blank. "Oh my God," the oath seemed to slip from her lips. "End the fire-call, I'll Floo over immediately."

"Hermione, I—"

"Now, Lestrange!"

His face disappeared from the flames. A pinch of Floo powder and a call of her own had her spinning into his study. Lestrange looked at her, taking in the changes in her body with tired eyes.

"Where are they?" She demanded.

"In the entrance hall, if they haven't moved on to destroying the drawing rooms. I'd prefer you didn't go out there, really. I think you'd be safer at the Burrow, or at least in here. If we both ward the room with your magic boosted, it's likely they won't—"

"I'm not sitting in here while they destroy our home. That's not how Aurors are supposed to work," she stated flatly. She stomped past him and out of the room towards the crashing she could hear. He followed.

When she entered the drawing room—the larger, more formal of the three—it was to a scene of trashed elegance. Every single knickknack and breakable item they'd found had been smashed against the walls or the floors, including vases of fresh flowers and water, staining the few works of art hanging from the picture rail. The men doing the damage were laughing between themselves as they used their wand to rip the fabric of the sofas and chairs.

"Excuse me!" Hermione called out, interrupting their rude behaviour, "I'd like to see the warrant or paperwork that allowed you to come into my home and destroy it. And I want your names."

"We've already told Lestrange, we're Aurors and we're here on an official raid of the house in case you've got Dark Artefacts. Got it, Missy?"

They were dressed in the red robes of Aurors, but they looked nothing like professionals. Their robes were slightly wrinkled because they weren't tailored for these men, and one had a yellow stain on the collar. Hermione had no doubt in her mind that these men weren't Aurors and weren't here on official business of any sort. She slipped her wand from her pocket and cast a Patronus message to Kingsley. She'd never done it non-verbally before and had no idea if it would work, but she was extremely angry and didn't even doubt her stronger magic.

"Hey now," the shorter man with the stained collar called, stomping towards her, aiming his wand at her.

Lestrange immediately stepped in front of her but he'd not pulled his wand. His eyes blazed with fury at the obvious threat to her.

Thinking quickly, Hermione stepped into his back and whispered into the hair at his nape, using his larger frame to hide her from the belligerent man. His partner hadn't raised his wand at them yet, but Hermione wasn't going to give them a chance. "I'll throw a shield to cover you. Three, two, _Vorso!"_

The reflection shield she cast was large enough to cover Lestrange from head to toe and he pulled his wand smoothly, tossing a Jelly-legs Jinx immediately in the other man's direction. The shield didn't distract them for long and soon Hermione and Lestrange were trading curses and hexes with the fake Aurors.

Hermione heard the sound of apparition then and glanced behind her. Kingsley had shown up, assessed the situation, and thrown a curse in less than five seconds. Hermione turned to cast again, planning to cast in tandem with Lestrange to subdue the shorter man. Somehow, Lestrange had moved forward, and Hermione took a step forward herself so they fake Aurors couldn't separate them.

At the same moment, there was a flash of yellow—a curse Hermione didn't recognise—and she was flung back onto the hardwood floor. She felt broken glass dig into her shoulders and upper back but it was nothing compared to the pain that flooded her body from that curse. She screamed. She heard several shouted spells and then a loud, fleshy splat.

Then nothing as she passed out.

 *** . * . ***

 _It was a beautiful evening. The sky was clear and the stars were shining brightly. They were dressed warmly, but there was still a chill in the air. Hermione smiled, inhaling deeply to smell the lavender and purple lilacs in her bouquet. She hadn't really wanted to spend the money to have the flowers shipped in for the October wedding, but there were only a few. Draco had paid for them._

 _She smiled at Harry at her side, and he grinned back. "Are you ready?"_

 _"Oh yes, I'm ready," she said._

 _There was a faint melody playing and as they slowly made their way out of the chapel and into the gardens proper, she saw that someone had charmed a violin to play. The guests were on either side of the makeshift aisle. Ginny, Ron, Mr and Mrs Weasley, Remus and Tonks were on one side and Percy, Fred, George, Charlie, Bill and Fleur on the other. Harry walked her down the aisle to her fiancés.  
_

 _Rabastan and Draco stood at the altar with Dumbledore; he would officiate the ceremony. Rabastan looked dashing in his midnight blue robes, coordinating perfectly with her light blue, lacy maternity dress. Draco was wearing a medium grey, embroidered with a hint of lace to match her dress. They both smiled brightly when she looked up at them. Harry brought her to them and kissed her cheek, stepping away to stand next to Ginny._

 _Dumbledore smiled and greeted everyone and then started the ceremony. Hermione wasn't paying attention, though, the words sounded like Latin but she couldn't focus to make out what she was hearing._

 _"Oh!" she said, ineloquently. She raised her hand up to touch her well-rounded belly.  
_

 _Rabastan's hand came up to rest on her back and she could feel its heat through her dress. "Are you all right?" he asked, looking down at her with a smile.  
_

 _"Yes. It's just... That's the first time I felt the baby move."_

 _His answering smile transformed his face and he looked years younger, boyish almost._

 _Hermione turned back to Dumbledore, unsure if she'd messed up by speaking during the ceremony but he wasn't standing there any longer. It was just empty space with the gardens beyond, the dark air chilling her fingertips. She felt dread then like if she looked up Rabastan and Draco wouldn't be by her sides anymore. She couldn't bear to look._

 *** . * . ***

 **Monday, 7 September 1998**

Hermione blinked, trying to rid her eyes of sleep and dryness. She tried to raise her hand to touch her face, to rub at her eyes but realised that someone was holding it. She closed her eyes again, not bothering to actually figure out where she was or who was with her. Something felt wrong. She was so used to waking up and mentally checking her body. Not clammy, no weird taste in her throat, no headache. Not going to be sick. But there was something else, a hollowness that she couldn't place. It bothered her. She looked to see who was holding her hand.

"Rabastan?" she asked.

He looked up at her then, tired, bloodshot eyes and dark bags under his eyes indicating his lack of rest. His hair was lank but not oily as it had been at his trial. "I'm here," he said, voice cracking like he hadn't spoken in a while and his throat was parched.

"What's going on?"

"What do you remember?" He countered.

She wanted to smile and call him a Slytherin prat, but that feeling of emptiness was strong and she couldn't seem to put a smile on her face. "I had been at the Weasleys because I wanted to be somewhere comforting after finding out my parents were dead. You fire-called asking me... To come back to your house? And mentioned that two men were there wrecking havoc. I came through the Floo and confronted them. They weren't Aurors. Their uniforms weren't fitted and they were wrinkled and stained. I sent my Patronus to Kingsley. He came. Then there was a yellow spell and pain."

"That's about the time you passed out."

"What happened?" she asked again, not liking the dead look in his eyes.

"The spell that hit you was a dark spell, meant for me," he said solemnly. He swallowed and tried to speak twice before he got the next five words out. "It caused you to miscarry."

Instead of reacting with shock, or anger, or pain—Hermione realised that she might still be under the effects of a potion dampening her emotions—she stated, "That's what I feel."

"Hmm?"

"I couldn't figure out why I felt so wrong. So... Empty. What happened to the fake Aurors?"

"Minister Shacklebolt incapacitated one and I... The other's here in St Mungo's, missing his wand arm."

The smallest amount of incredulity filtered her words, "You cut off his arm?"

He glanced down, though Hermione couldn't tell if it was in shame. "I actually used a _Reductor_ curse on it."

"Are you going to be charged with a crime?"

He shook his head. "No. If I had cast the spell before you were hurt, yes, but since the Minister was there and saw the order of things..."

"You blasted his wand arm to pieces because I got hurt?"

"Yes."

They sat quietly as Hermione's brain tried to catch up to the conversation. She felt as though she was moving through treacle.

"What's going to happen now?"

He didn't answer her, just looked down at their clasped hands and shook his head.

"Rabastan?"

He looked up at her, eyes shiny. "You're going to go back to your life. And when you're better and have been released, I'm going back to the estate."

"Don't I still owe the—"

"No," he said, gasping the word like he would choke. "No, Hermione. You owe me nothing. The life debt was for life created; remember your acknowledgement? Your vow? Life created. And you did, you created life with me," he half smiled but then his features took on a haunted look. Despair filled his voice. "It's my fault that..." he reached out slowly and rested his hand on her hip, afraid to touch her stomach where their child had grown. "I'm a horrible duelist. I moved the wrong way or cast _Protego_ instead of _Vorso_. I don't think very well on my feet like that. All I know is that spell was meant for me and it hit you." He stopped speaking for a moment, afraid to look her in the eyes. When he finally did, she could see tears glistening on his face, "It's my fault our baby died, Hermione." It seemed hearing himself say it was too much because he gasped again, trying to take in large gulps of air. His panicked tears quieted and he just held her hand, face turned aside to hide his shame. "Your life debt to me is absolved," he told her, voice stronger than it had been before. "I apologise for the outpouring of emotion, I was never very good at holding it all in."

Hermione blinked slowly trying to understand just what he was saying. No more life debt. No betrothal, no marriage. No baby. She squeezed Rabastan's hand and he looked up at her. She used her other hand to caress his cheek, brushing a few tears away with her thumb. There was another long silence between them that neither seemed to know how to fill.

"Rabastan?" she asked again.

He looked up at her.

"Do you know if the baby was a boy or a girl?"

The pain in his eyes didn't lessen. "Girl. We were going to have a little girl."

Hermione nodded dumbly. "Ylva," she said in response to some unknown question. "I was going to name her Ylva."

"You'd already picked out a name?"

"It means she-wolf. I thought it would be a nice namesake for your brother and your father. I thought you could pick her middle name."

His face crumpled like he would cry again but he didn't. Hermione was starting to feel the pain of whatever the curse was, or maybe her body's purging of their child, she didn't know. She did know that the pain she was feeling wasn't all physical though, there was a deep ache in her heart where her growing child had stowed away and now was gone. It burrowed down next to the missing piece of her heart where her parents were. Hermione wanted to be held then, she wanted comfort.

"Are any of my friends here?"

He didn't frown, but his brows scrunched together for a moment before relaxing. "Yes. I believe the Weasleys are here and Mr Potter. And Draco."

"Malfoy's here?" she asked.

"Yes."

"Can..." she rephrased, "I want to see Harry."

There was a wash of emotion that seemed to overwhelm his face then. Hermione had a hard time deciphering it all, but what she did see—sorrow and hurt and pain—confused her. He nodded. "Of course," he said like he knew that's who she was going to ask for. He leaned over her then and Hermione expected a kiss. On the forehead, in her hair, on her nose, even her mouth. But there were no kisses. Only a fallen tear or two that landed near her temple as he reached behind her and unclasped the necklace he'd given her. His betrothal jewellery. There was another gasp as he tried to contain his emotions and then the quietest whisper. "Goodbye, Hermione."

He stood and left quickly.

The treacle sludge feeling had faded by now and she just hurt all over.

The door swung open but it wasn't Harry that stepped in. A tall, brunette Healer came in instead. "I see you're awake now _Miss_ Granger." She waved her wand over Hermione's body and Hermione flinched, still paranoid from the war. "Next time you want to celebrate, don't just spread your legs for all and sundry."

Hermione felt slapped. What did the Healer just say? "I know the father of my child."

"Oh, sure you do. All the unmarried girls say that. Mess around with enough boys and you can pick the richest one to blackmail. Obviously, he didn't fall for it, did he? Did you even use the standard first-trimester potions kit?"

Hermione didn't understand what this woman was thinking. "Yes, I used the anti-nausea potion."

"So you thought the rest were optional, hmm? Typical. Didn't even read the insert. What? Worried that a nutrition potion would make you gain weight?" the Healer asked but she wasn't expecting an answer because she had already assumed one. "You're probably one of those girls who think being underweight is sexy. Let me tell you, it's not. It's no wonder you miscarried, you're two stone underweight. Perhaps next time you decide to spread your legs, think about a contraception spell _Miss_ Granger." The Healer tsked twice as she looked at the results of her diagnostic spells. "You're free to leave now. I won't be back by. I've got other patients to tend. Married witches who wanted their babies and took care of themselves."

The Healer turned and walked out but not before Hermione caught sight of Harry's face in the window. He looked livid. She heard his voice, speaking low and almost growling as he spoke with the Healer. Hermione didn't hear if the woman said anything in return but she walked away briskly. Harry took a deep breath before he came into the room.

"Oh, Harry!" Hermione said, breaking into the tears she'd been holding back since before Rabastan left. He rushed over and sat on the bed, wrapping his arms around her. Before she fell asleep again she murmured, "Take me home." Though even to herself, she didn't know where home was anymore.

 *** . * . ***

 **Tuesday, 8 September 1998**

Hermione woke up in her bed at the Burrow. On the bedside table between her bed and Ginny's was a fresh vase of flowers. She felt hollow inside still, but the aching in her heart and soul didn't stop her bladder from demanding it's due. She eased herself out of the bed. She slipped her feet into the bedroom shoes just under her bed and stood. Her body ached all over especially the muscles of her abdomen. She tried not to think about why that was. She carefully made her way to the bathroom. When she was done there she headed down the stairs toward the kitchen; before she was all the way down, though, Mrs Weasley stopped her on the way up.

"What are you doing out of bed?" she asked.

"Had to wee," Hermione answered. Her normal mental filter not quite working properly.

"Well there's that," the older woman said. She smiled sadly at Hermione. "Back to bed with you, I can tell by the way your shoulders are hunched that you're still in pain."

"I don't want to just lay there."

"I'll get you a book. That vase of flowers Mr Lestrange sent has very special meaning. Have you heard of the language of flowers?" She asked as she ushered Hermione back up to her room.

"The people of the Victorian era used to attribute meaning to flowers but all I know is red roses mean love and yellow roses mean friendship."

Before Hermione settled back in the bed, Mrs Weasley cast a spell that cleaned the sheets, fluffed the pillow, and warmed the duvet.

"Thanks."

"You'll be physically feeling better by the end of the week. There is a bit more to the language of flowers than just roses," she answered. She looked at the vase as Hermione crawled under the duvet. Mrs Weasley summoned a book from downstairs and caught it as it soared through the door. She set it gingerly on Hermione's lap. "All right, what flowers can you identify?"

Hermione smiled to herself. This was something she could absolutely do on her own, but Mrs Weasley seemed to know that she didn't really want to be alone at the moment. "Lilacs. They're one of my favourites." She opened the book and flipped casually to the entry. She read aloud, "'Lilacs, purple. First emotions of love.' Does that mean he was starting to... fall in love with me?"

Mrs Weasley hummed. "I would think so. Let's do the leaves next. Do you know them?"

"Aspen, I think."

"Looks like aspen to me too."

Hermione flipped to the front of the book and found the entry for Aspen. "'Lamentation.'" There wasn't much she could say about that. Of course, they were in mourning. "There are three different white flowers, though I think one of them is snowdrops, right?"

"Yes, these are snowdrops."

"'Snowdrops. Hope, consolation,'" she read. "He's upset about losing the baby too. Though I knew that. He cried when he told me."

Mrs Weasley just smiled sadly. "This one is volkameria."

"'May you be happy,'" Hermione read aloud after she found the entry. She liked that. He had told her before that he just wanted her to be happy.

"Now these, do you know what these are?"

Hermione shook her head.

"Have a sniff, I bet you'll know immediately," she said and picked up the vase and brought it closer for Hermione to sniff the white flowers.

The smell of citrus was strong, but it was sweet. It made her mouth water. "Oranges! That's definitely oranges. So, orange blossoms, I guess?" She took Mrs Weasley's smile as a yes and found the proper entry. "'Innocence, eternal love, marriage, fruitfulness.' I don't understand that one. I mean, he took his necklace back, so he can't still mean..."

"Orange blossoms are traditionally associated with a bride and bridal festivities. They represent a woman's virtue."

Hermione frowned. "Is he symbolically giving back my virginity?"

"Had he taken it?" Mrs Weasley's eyebrows raised.

"Yes."

"Then, yes, I suppose he's symbolically giving it back. Though, of course, you'll never have the chance to do the virgin rites again. Traditionally, mothers don't explain that until the eve of a wedding, but by then many witches have already gone through it. Even when their mothers warn them from having sex."

"Is there something special with the virgin rites? Or just, who's in control of..." Hermione ducked her head as she felt the heat rise up her neck.

"You know about virgin rites, then? And the small shift of power depending on who is in control?"

"Malfoy explained them while we were on the aeroplane. It's a long story about how that came up, but, yes."

Mrs Weasley frowned as she looked Hermione over. "I had assumed he was in control."

Hermione took a deep breath to push past the embarrassment. "He tried to get me to control it, but I... I was scared and I gave up control halfway through. There's not a spell or ritual that goes along with it?"

"No, it's blood magic, old stuff usually in connection with nature. No spells or incantations needed. So you both had control. That's," she paused and nodded. "That's special. I never expected that of him."

"I recognise the carnations," Hermione said after a moment and flipped towards the front of the book to find the entry for the flower. "Carnation, pink. I'll never forget you _._ '"

"And of course, you recognise the last one."

"The single rose in the centre. It's not truly red."

"No. Look up roses and compare the colours listed to this one."

Hermione flipped to the page and found the entry for roses. There were so many. Burgundy, coral, dark crimson, lavender, orange, pink. "Well, it's pink, isn't it?"

"But it's not a light pink like the carnations."

"Okay, so dark pink. 'Appreciation, gratitude, thank you for being in my life,'" she read aloud. "Oh. That's..." Hermione felt her eyes prickle but she didn't cry.

"And further down the page, there should be a note about a single bloom or a bouquet, and about if the roses are fully opened or not."

Hermione didn't read the notation out loud this time. _Single full bloom. I truly love you._ She didn't look back up from the book while she thought. She'd only really started to get to know Rabastan after his trial in July and she'd spent almost all of August in Australia. How could he begin to love her in just about a month's time? It didn't make any sense to her. But she remembered the look on Malfoy's face when she said she would have rather died than be in this situation with Rabastan. And that she wore his jewellery only because he asked, not that she'd planned to actually marry him. Malfoy had called her clueless and cruel. Perhaps she was.

"Thank you," she said, looking up expecting to see Mrs Weasley still standing by her bed. She wasn't there. She must have left to give Hermione some time to think about what Rabastan meant with his flowers. Hermione felt a few tears slip down her cheeks and she closed the book and set it aside. One hand came up to rest on her belly, not as flat as it had been before she was pregnant but definitely not rounded like it had been. Everything felt tender.

Hermione spent the next few days resting and trying to find something to ground her. It wasn't until Harry came by and mentioned Ginny being at school that it dawned on Hermione that it was already the second week of September. Her heart ached, but thinking about Hogwarts and schedules, learning and the library, she finally found what she wanted. She sent an owl to Professor McGonagall, who was now Headmistress, asking if she could attend even though she was several weeks past the start of classes. The answer had her packing up her trunk and Apparating to Hogsmeade on Saturday, ready to immerse herself in her studies and forget about the war and the way her life had turned upside down in the last four months.

* * *

Content Warning: Hermione has a miscarriage in this chapter. She is devastated by it. It takes her years to overcome her grief. Therefore, from this chapter to about chapter 22, warning for mentions of miscarriage. It's also brought up in chapters 28 and 31 as other people involved in Hermione's life grieve about it too.


	12. Chapter 12

**Saturday, 12 September 1998**

Hagrid had greeted Hermione at the gate and once she was past the winged boars, a house elf had popped next to her to take her trunk. He told her the password to get into Professor McGonagall's office and strode away after telling her it was good to see her.

As the spinning staircase brought Hermione to the Headmistress's office, Hermione made herself breathe deeply and calmly. The castle had been almost destroyed in May, but in the months following much of the Wizarding community had come to help rebuild the school that most of them had attended. Seeing the castle now, after helping with the worst of it in May, made her feel nostalgic. Hogwarts was still Hogwarts, but the castle itself had scars and new additions.

She knocked and McGonagall called for her to enter.

"Good afternoon, Miss Granger," she said from behind her desk. The war and battle had seemed to age her beyond her sixty-some years. Her dark hair was streaked with grey and she seemed frailer than Hermione expected.

"Good afternoon, Headmistress. How are you?" Hermione asked as she walked into the room. McGonagall gestured for her to sit and she did.

"I'm well. I wanted to give you a map to the school and tell you about some of the changes and additions."

"A map? I've been a student here six years, I'm not sure I need a map. Plus, the corridors change and the staircases move," Hermione spoke with a smile on her face.

McGonagall's lips twitched for a moment and that was enough of a smile for Hermione. "The magic of the castle has suffered scars like her walls, and the corridors haven't moved in months. We're pretty sure they are fixed now. Same with the staircases. It seems like the school understands we need more stability than we'd had previously. We've relocated non-Heads of House professors to a rarely used corridor, for example."

"Professor Trelawney gave up her tower?"

"She did, for a nicer room and larger bath. Heads of House will now also be closer to their respective dormitories. Classrooms are in the central part of the castle, though things are still spread out a bit. Care of Magical Creatures and Herbology are still outside, though we have new gardens and covered and charmed walkways to get to them. Potions are still in the dungeons; the restricted light and cooler space are better for the ingredients." She handed Hermione a multi-layered map. It wasn't like the Marauder's Map, but there were several charms to separate which floor of the castle it showed based on where the viewer wanted to look. Hers also had a Gryffindor crest in the corner.

"Each map is charmed to acknowledge which house the holder is in unless one is staff of course," McGonagall explained. "This way you as a Gryffindor can't find the Slytherin common room, for example. There is also a large inter-house common room on the third floor opposite the library. I encourage all the students to spend at least one night a week in it. That's about as much as we can demand between houses just yet."

Hermione nodded. "Have the forms been changed? Am I going to be bunking with the seventh years?"

"We've set another corridor, smaller than the teacher's corridor, specifically for eighth-year students. I know a bit more than a dozen have come back and though many of us were on the front lines, eighth-year students seemed to have taken the brunt of it. You have your own room, though you'll be supplied the Gryffindor common room password so you can socialise as you like. The House common rooms allow fire-calls but not Floo travel. There is not a mandatory lights-out in the eighth-year rooms, but the nine o'clock curfew is still intact."

Hermione nodded again and glanced down at the map in her hands. It was showing the eighth year corridor now, though only one room was labelled. Hers. Granger. Third room down on the left.

"Are you all right, Hermione?" McGonagall's voice had softened.

Hermione looked up at her. What did Professor McGonagall know of her situation? Perhaps she just meant in regards to recovering after the war. "I'm... I'm coping," she said. The words sounded flat to her ears.

"Well, if you need anything my door is always open to you. The special password to get in is 'Phoenix.' If you need to talk, about anything, don't hesitate," she looked imploringly at Hermione.

"Yes, Madam. I think I'm going to go up to the tower to see Ginny before dinner if that's all right?"

"Of course, the password this week is 'Harry Potter.' Hopefully, they'll decide on something a little less easy to guess next time. Oh, and to get into your room just tap your wand to the door. It will let you assign a password for you and your friends but Professors, Heads of House and Madam Pomfrey can get in without it."

"Thank you, Headmistress," Hermione said her goodbyes and as she turned to walk out she saw Dumbledore's and Snape's portrait. She stopped to look. Dumbledore's moved ever so slightly as he breathed but Snape's was still.

"It's not charmed, Hermione. If Severus ever charmed a painting of himself, we never did find it. Harry had this one installed in his honour, though."

Hermione sighed and thought about the last battle as she walked down the corridor to Gryffindor Tower. Seeing Snape's portrait wouldn't be her nightmare trigger tonight, though it had startled her. No, just being in the castle would do it.

 *** . * . ***

Hermione strolled to Gryffindor tower. There were more tapestries along the wall, including one covering the blank stretch of wall opposite the tapestry of Barnabas the Barmy teaching trolls ballet. She wondered if the Room of Requirement was damaged beyond use, or if after the doors closed the room winked out of existence and extinguished the Fiendfyre. She shivered, thinking about Crabbe's final screams. They'd featured in a good many of her nightmares after the battle.

When Hermione came up to the Fat Lady's portrait, the Fat Lady greeted her by name. "Miss Granger! It's so good to see you again!"

Hermione offered her a half smile. "Harry Potter," she said quietly.

"Of course, of course. Please do come by and chat later," the painting said and then it swung open on its hinges to allow Hermione entrance.

She stepped through the portrait hole and was relieved when no one shouted out her name or otherwise called attention to her. In an out of the way corner made from two sofas and an armchair, she saw Ginny speaking with Dean, Seamus, and Parvati. She faltered as she watched them. Could she really still do this? So much had happened. Yes, they'd survived the final battle. And Dean had been on the run, just like she, Harry, and Ron. But in the four months since then, Hermione felt like there was a canyon of experience between her and them. How would she ever connect with them again?

Ginny spotted her first. "Hermione!" she shouted, and then bounded over and gave her a hug. She had leaned forward to give her hug, expecting a baby bump that was no longer there. "Come over here and say hi to everyone," she said as she stepped back. Hermione was wearing normal weekend clothes, Muggle jeans and tee shirt. Ginny's eyebrows scrunched as she looked Hermione over. They had walked the few steps back towards the others when Ginny finally asked, "Hermione? Why aren't you wearing... you know," she leaned close and whispered, "your confinement garment?"

Her whisper hadn't been quiet enough.

"Confinement, Hermione are you pregnant?" Parvati asked loudly.

Ginny hushed her and cast a _Muffliato_ to keep their conversation private.

"Wow, congrats, I guess," Seamus grinned. "Bet Ron's pretty happy, then?"

Hermione ducked her head to try and hide the heat she felt climbing up her neck. "I had thought everyone had heard."

"Heard what?" Parvati asked, also looking her over.

Hermione thought quickly, unsure of how much she wanted to tell. "A Death Eater saved my life at the final battle here and then called in a life debt. He wanted an heir."

"What!?" Dean shouted. Hermione winced, doubting the _Muffliato_ had held after that. "Sorry," he modulated his voice back down. "How could the Ministry allow that sort of thing?"

"Life debts are old magic," Seamus explained. "Ministry can't interfere. Saving progeny is definitely allowed. Didn't want to say which Death Eater?"

Hermione shook her head. "My pregnancy was actually announced at his trial, that's why I assumed most everyone knew."

"But you needed a confinement garment last month, what's going on, Hermione? Did you find a glamour to hide it so you could come back?" Ginny asked.

"I'm..." Hermione tried to breathe but it felt like her lungs were being stabbed. Realising the panic for what it was she closed her eyes and forced herself to inhale deeply. It worked, but her chest felt constricted. "I'm no longer pregnant, Ginny."

Ginny's eyes had gone wide and she wrapped her arms tight around Hermione's shoulders, pressing her nose against her collarbone. The others also looked a bit startled. Finally, Ginny found her voice. "What happened? If you don't mind me—Oh Merlin! Tuesday! Mum had said you'd been in St Mungo's but I thought it was just a regular check up or something. I'm so sorry, Hermione!"

"Two men posing as Aurors came to the home of the Death Eater where I had been living intent on destruction. I sent my Patronus to Kingsley; I know I should have sent it to someone else, but he was an Auror before he was Minister. We duelled the men, but I was hit with a dark spell."

"I bet the Death Eater was the one to cast it," Dean said grimly, glaring at the wall with simmering anger.

"He did not! Both he and Kingsley saw the other man do it. There's no reason for the father of my child to have cast the spell at me, Dean, think about it! I was carrying his child! He was so upset he—" she brought herself short. There was no need to tell the assembled friends that he had blasted the culprit's wand arm into pieces that couldn't be healed nor that he had cried. Those were rather personal things. She swallowed. "We were both upset."

"How far along were you?" Parvati asked, sincerity in her eyes.

"About fifteen weeks," Hermione said. "You hadn't seen me before I got back from Australia, Ginny, but I was definitely showing even more."

"Is that why you decided to come back for eighth-year? You lost the baby?" Seamus asked.

"What about your Death Eater? Wouldn't you have had to marry him if you'd had his child?" Parvati asked.

"Yes, Seamus, I made the decision to come back after..." She swallowed and finished answering their questions. "I actually didn't have to marry him, that's a myth. The law only says it was _encouraged_ for an unwed mother to marry the father of the child. After he left my hospital room, I assume he went back home."

Home. Yesterday evening, Dorna and Krob had shown up at the Burrow, asking where she would like her things. Hermione had asked them to take them to Grimmauld Place into one of the bedrooms on the third floor. She'd then sent an owl to Harry telling him that Lestrange had sent her belongings back to her. Both house elves had looked devastated when they spoke with her. Dorna was even told by Lestrange to offer Limpet's new elf to her as a personal helper but Hermione had very gently declined, explaining that she was going back to Hogwarts and she didn't want a new elf to feel out of place.

Hermione realised that the others had allowed the conversation to move on past her and she was grateful for it. Ginny stayed closed to Hermione as they went down to the Great Hall for dinner, and even offered to walk with her to the new eighth-year corridor, but Parvati was already headed that way as well, so she offered to show her the way.

Once she was alone in her room she set the password to the door to 'Crookshanks' and then looked around. She missed her cat but he seemed happy roaming the Weasleys' orchards and his presence kept the mice, gnomes, and rabbits out of the garden. The room was small but nothing too tiny and it looked luxurious in comparison to Rabastan's cell at the Ministry. There was a narrow four-poster bed, bedside table, wardrobe, and desk with chair situated comfortably in the space. The desk was under the tall mullioned window that looked out over the lake. The view would be picturesque in the daylight but now it was dark. There were oil lamps on the walls illuminating the space instead of the torch sconces used elsewhere in the castle. They reminded her of Lestrange Estate. There was a single door to the side near the wardrobe that Hermione suspected led to a bathroom. A peek inside showed a slightly larger modern looking bathing space. A claw-footed tub and a separate shower, the toilet, and a double sink. Across the room was a second door. She wondered who she shared her bathroom with.

Hermione decided to go to bed early then and focus tomorrow on starting to catch up on the two weeks of coursework she'd missed.

 *** . * . ***

 **Sunday, 13 September 1998**

Hermione spent most of her Sunday in the library reading. She could have chosen anywhere to work on her missed readings, but felt comfortable in the library. Stepping foot into this space had been pleasant because there were no scars in the stone or scorch marks hidden behind tapestries and new paintings.

After dinner, Hermione felt listless. She'd spent the day reading and got caught up with the readings that were due tomorrow, after that she'd work towards reading both the older material covered in the first two weeks plus the new material as it was assigned. She wouldn't have her normal advantage of memorised textbooks but she was thinking maybe she could not try quite so hard. No one else memorised their textbooks. When she'd first started that habit before first-year, she had done it to prove herself. And as she'd been faced with blood prejudice she'd continued to do it.

Now, though, she was a witch with nothing to prove. She'd fought and survived a war. She was a witch and nothing anyone said would change it or make her doubt her place here again.

As if to test that theory, Hermione decided to walk across the corridor to the new inter-house common room. There wasn't a password at the door and the portraits along the wall greeted her cheerfully. Inside the room was spacious and square with two fireplaces on opposite ends of the long room. There were tables and chairs for games, a glass-fronted cabinet with Muggle board games and several chessboards available. There were stacks of Exploding Snap cards as well as regular Muggle playing cards. There were shelves with Muggle and Wizarding fiction novels. And rainbowed-coloured furniture everywhere. There were purple pieces with silver stars, orange and green stripes, pink and blue and yellow polka dots.

The colourful furniture made Hermione smile and think about Headmaster Dumbledore's often brightly-coloured robes. There were portraits spaced around the room for supervision, of course, and windows high on the walls to let in light. More oil lamps hung from the walls and the ceilings, as needed. There were only a few students wandering about the space, however. First years, though Hermione didn't know which House. She supposed that since they were in the inter-house common room then it didn't really matter.

She snuggled down in a cushy beanbag near one of the fireplaces and laid her head back, hoping to relax. She had a tension migraine from reading all day. Not something that used to happen to her. She lay snuggled down, basking in the heat of the fire for a long while. She felt something touch her hair and wondered if pets were allowed in here. She felt it again and assumed the answer was no. She opened her eyes to see bright silver eyes and pale blonde eyebrows looking down at her.

"Hey," he said with the slightest hint of a smile.

"Hi," she answered. She glanced around to see that the room had filled up, including many more faces that she recognised as Slytherin students. Greengrass, Zabini, Nott, Parkinson and Goyle had settled in the proper furniture nearby. Hermione wasn't sure if they'd realised she was here when they'd decided to sit there. She blinked and looked back up to Malfoy standing over her. "Thanks for, you know, coming to the hospital and everything before that," she whispered, unsure if his friends knew he'd consorted with someone like her.

He nodded but didn't speak. She watched him as he moved over to sit with his friends. She could hear them talking quietly; she caught a few words about Quidditch. Malfoy looked back at her and raised his eyebrows, glancing once at the space beside him on the sofa in invitation. She made sure to let her eyes linger on each of his friends as her reason for declining. He frowned but didn't make any other gestures to her.

The portraits called out ten minutes to curfew and the groups in the room started to break apart. Malfoy stepped away from his friends to offer a hand to Hermione. He'd done that before when he'd first seen her pregnant. It felt like so long ago when she'd hexed him and the three of them had bantered over lunch. She let him help her up and even let him tuck her arm over his. They were headed towards the eighth-year corridor together. His friends had waited for him. They all watched with careful, cautious eyes. She didn't know if they were waiting for her to pick a fight with them or for her to break or something else. They all walked the short distance to their corridor. Three turns, two long hallways away from the Great Hall. The eighth-year rooms seemed to be the furthest from the Great Hall, furthest from the Entrance Hall. Off in a wing of the castle rarely used. Barely scarred or broken. Away from the places that would trigger nightmares in many of them. The professors' corridor was one floor below theirs and twice as long, forming a corner. Hermione wondered if that corner was the large room Trelawney had traded her tower for.

Greengrass and Parkinson were the first two doors on the left. "Night Granger," Greengrass called. Her voice was light and made Hermione think of Tinkerbell.

Hermione called a goodnight back, though it might have been a bit less enthusiastic. Malfoy stopped at her door. She didn't know how he knew which room was hers. Instead of saying her password, she watched as the boys went into rooms only on the right of the hall. "Ah. Separated gender by the corridor," she murmured to herself.

"Are you all right?" Malfoy asked once they were alone aside from the portraits guarding the doors.

Hermione nodded slowly. "Migraine. Started getting them out on the run last year, never had them before."

"You should have gone up to Madam Pomfrey. I've got a few potions in my room if you'd like. Headache-relief. Dreamless sleep. A combination of both."

Hermione thought for a moment and then nodded. "Combination?"

"Would you like to come into my room or just wait here? If you want to go lay down, you could give me your password and I'll bring the potion to you."

"Password's 'Crookshanks,'" she said. The portrait swung open behind her and she gave Malfoy a sleepy, half-smile.

"And if you'd like to come into my room at any time, the password is 'Sydney.' I'll be right along with that potion for you," he told her. He turned and walked across the hall to the door opposite hers.

Hermione went back into her small little space and dressed for bed quickly before sitting against the headboard and pillow. She waited with heavy eyelids and slow breaths until she felt someone shake her shoulder. When she opened her eyes she saw that she'd slumped farther into the bed. Malfoy handed her a small vial and waited for her to drink. She did and then handed it back. He leaned over her, tugging her duvet out from under her bum and pulled it down and then back up, over her. Was he really tucking her in? It seemed like such a strange concept. Once she'd settled he kissed her forehead. "Goodnight, Hermione," he whispered and then he left, the door shutting behind him with a snick and click, the lock engaging.

Hermione slept through the night.


	13. Chapter 13

**Saturday, 31 October 1998**

The first month an a half flew by before Hermione could blink. She seemed to spend even more of her time than before studying. She attended classes, working alongside seventh and eighth-year students. There were new teachers for Transfiguration and Defence and both seemed relatively competent. Hermione spent most of her time in the library or in her room, only going to the common rooms on the weekend.

She looked up information about virgin rites and betrothal jewellery but didn't find much at first. She did find a book that listed all the families that started participating in the tradition in 1679 and memorised all seventy families and the combinations of jewellery. She knew it didn't apply to her any longer but she found it fascinating in a morbid-sick sort of way. She also found a book in the Restricted Section that mentioned how powerful a child born of a virgin rite was, but it only added to her sadness. Hermione wrote letters to Harry and Ron weekly and shared an occasional letter with Mrs Weasley and George.

Harry, Ron, and Neville had joined the Aurors in mid-August. They were invited into the program along with Orders of Merlin for their parts in the War. Hermione had received her little trophy as well and had used it as a bookend at Lestrange Estate. She assumed it was with her things at Grimmauld Place now. The others in their year socialised a bit more than she did, and Ginny tried to get Hermione out of the library. She gave up before Halloween after telling Hermione that it was her last year, she shouldn't be studying so hard. Hermione had said that since it was her last year, she _had_ to study hard. N.E.W.T.s were important, after all.

The tentative friendship with Malfoy had stalled. Malfoy had silently invited her to join the Slytherins and she had finally decided that she would. As soon as she had stood up and moved towards the sofa where Malfoy was sitting, Parkinson laid down and pillowed her head on his thigh. His eyebrows came together once, but he didn't discourage her. It had made Hermione pause, but she finally decided she didn't care who Malfoy was dating. She sat down in the corner of the sofa, burrowed into the side deeply so she wouldn't touch Parkinson—it wouldn't do to have the other girl shout at her for accidentally touching her hair.

Once Hermione was sitting with the group properly, all conversation stopped. Hermione thought about speaking, thought about attempting to bridge the gap as they all just stared at her like she was stink sap and they were worried she'd contaminate them. She looked at them, frowned, and returned to her beanbag near the fire. Warm and relaxed, she dozed.

She knew it wasn't healthy to not socialise as much as before, it just felt like she had nothing in common with any of the other students. She'd lived a completely different life in four months, been an adult with an adult's responsibilities. Now everyone seemed to think she was either fragile—Harry and Ron-or still a child—Ginny. She probably perpetuated the child mentality with all of her studying. Hermione didn't truly care. Studying was soothing as long as it didn't cause a migraine and it made her feel safe and comfortable.

Hermione wrote a letter to Headmistress McGonagall and the Board of Governors to ask for a Wizards Studies class or series of lectures for Muggle-born and Muggle-raised students to learn some of the more obscure things about Wizarding culture. McGonagall replied that the idea had merit but, regrettably, there wouldn't be anything like that available in time for seventh and eighth-year students. Hermione could have pushed or rallied but she felt a bit apathetic about the whole thing.

Ginny and her friends decided to spend their Halloween evening after dinner in the inter-house common room and so Hermione joined them there. The room was much more crowded than it usually was on Sunday evenings and Hermione shied away into the far corner, dragging her favourite beanbag chair so her back was to the wall and she had a good view of the other students.

Hermione spoke when spoken to, but didn't offer much in the way of conversation until Ginny mentioned that Ron said in a letter that some of the Death Eaters on house arrest were 'inspected.' That was about the time that Malfoy and his entourage stomped into the room. From across the large space, Hermione could hear Malfoy's voice degrading the Ministry and the Auror Department.

Unfortunately, a sixth year Gryffindor decided he didn't like that. "What's got your knickers in a wad, Malfoy? Don't think the Aurors were gentle with dearest Mummy?"

Hermione's jaw dropped. She hadn't been expecting such rancour aimed at Malfoy when her own feelings for him were muddled.

Malfoy's eyes narrowed but he clamped his lips closed tightly. Refusing to rise to the heated bait. His eyes sought out Hermione but before she could decipher his feelings the sixth year Gryffindor was baiting him again.

"You deserve to be in Azkaban, Death Eater, should have had you Kissed," the Gryffindor spat. "If dearest Mummy and poor Daddy don't survive their sentences, it wouldn't be a loss."

Hermione wanted to stand up and defend him, she did. But the words were choking her throat and her mouth was dry and all she wanted to do was run.

It was Ginny that did something. She stood, stepping closer to the boy and gripped her wand tightly. She didn't aim it at him but down at the ground. Not a threat, but definitely defensive. "That's enough, Andrew!" she spoke harshly. "Don't like the sentencing? Write an appeal letter to the Wizengamot. Here and now, though, you'll shut your mouth and go mind your own business. I will kick you out of here if I have to."

Goyle snorted like he didn't believe her and Hermione was shocked when he spoke to her. "What makes you think you can do anything about it, Red?"

"I'm Head Girl, Goyle. That's what makes me think I can do something about it," Ginny said calmly.

Andrew sneered at Goyle and her both.

"I have no problem taking points from you, Andrew, want to start with fifty? Or maybe a detention? I'm sure Filch would love some help cleaning up tonight." Ginny seemed to have a backbone of steel as she spoke; she radiated with righteousness and power.

The entire common room had gone silent and even Malfoy and the other Slytherins were waiting for the other shoe to drop. They didn't think Ginny would take points or assign detention, especially to another Gryffindor. Andrew must have thought that too.

"Yeah right, go back to your little friends, Ginny. I figured you'd agree with me. All Death Eaters should have been Kissed," he hissed the last word in the Slytherins' direction.

"Seventy-five points from Gryffindor, Andrew, and detention with Filch. Now." She flicked her wand slightly and sparks sizzled from the tip. "I'll escort you," she said with a nasty little smile that seemed more smug than friendly.

He seemed to realise his error and his shoulders hunch, "Aww, come on Ginny! They killed—"

"Malfoy didn't kill anyone. None of the Marked that returned to school did. Now, are you going to fight me or not?" Her last words sounded like a taunt. Hermione wondered if she modelled her behaviour on the Carrows that she'd described: intimidation and torture. Ginny's wand twitched again as if daring Andrew to pull his own or cause more of a ruckus. Finally, he relented and marched ahead of her towards the door. She followed, intent on taking him to Filch for detention immediately.

When the door closed, the room burst into noise as everyone decided they wanted to talk about what they'd just seen. Malfoy came right up to her and knelt next to her. "Mother said they bloodied her lip when she politely asked questions regarding the inspection. Said that Bass allowed the Aurors in, but when they asked about the blood staining the drawing room and he answered truthfully about blasting that fake Auror's wand arm off; they roughed him up. Mother and Bass use house elves as messengers. Said that they were trying to get him to go to St Mungo's after the Aurors left but he refused. I'm going to fire-call him tonight to try to persuade him to go. Do you want me to tell him anything for you? I can sneak you into Slytherin to share the fire-call if you'd like."

Hermione rubbed her nose as her eyes started to prickle. She couldn't talk to him. There wasn't anything left to say. He had said goodbye and she didn't know how to reopen that dialogue. She didn't have the strength. She shook her head and looked away.

"You sure?" he asked, quieter still.

"I don't know what else there is that needs to be said, Draco," she whispered. Her voice cracked on his name.

He frowned but nodded. He stood and went back to his friends, settling into their normal seats near the fireplace. Hermione felt suddenly tired. She stood and told Parvati quietly that she was going to head on to her room to get an early night. Parvati just rolled her eyes before nodding, letting her know she'd tell Ginny she said goodnight. Hermione thanked her and slipped out of the door, away from the crowd and the high tensions.

She went to her room and dressed for bed, thinking of the empty room next to her. It had to be empty as she'd not had to share her bathroom with anyone. She wondered who it had been reserved for but then let the thought pass through her mind. When she slept, she dreamed of horrid yellow light and pain and emptiness. Aching emptiness.

 *** . * . ***

 **Friday, 13 November 1998**

 _Dark, auburn curls bounced on the little girl's shoulders. She giggled when Hermione called out to her and then ducked behind a garden wall covered in trailing ivy. A masculine chuckle followed the sound from beside Hermione though she didn't turn to see who was there. She knew._

 _Hermione called the girl again, telling her not to go too far. She knew they weren't near the pond on the property, but_ _the girl was only three or four, she shouldn't be wandering too far out of sight._

 _"I'm right here, Mummy!" the girl said, sneaking up behind her. Hermione turned around to see the little girl peeking out from behind a hedge, her eyes, pale green like her father's, dancing with mischief._

Hermione woke up abruptly, ten minutes before her alarm. She grabbed the notepad she kept beside her desk for stray thoughts and wrote out everything she could. She didn't want to lose this dream, it was too precious. After writing it down and rereading what she'd written twice, Hermione sighed and flopped back into the bed. That was the most she'd seen of the girl's face this time. She'd heard the voice before, seen the curls, but hadn't seen those eyes until tonight. Though she never doubted who the little girl was. She always knew it was Ylva.

This was the first time Rabastan's voice had been in the dream. He'd yet to make a full appearance, either. Most of the time she'd catch his shadow, or a dark blur in the corner of her eye as she'd turn around. Like he was always just out of sight, just out of reach, just out of mind. Hermione wished she knew what the dreams meant. She knew they weren't prophetic, of course, that was ridiculous. For one, Ylva was dead. For another, Hermione was still sceptical about Divination and she knew she had no talent for it though some people apparently did.

Her alarm went off and Hermione turned it off but didn't get out of bed immediately. She was just so tired and the dreams of Ylva didn't help. She loved them but she always woke up feeling off afterwards. As if each dream was a tiny bit of poison seeping into her soul somehow. She sighed heavily and crawled out of her bed. She dressed for classes and donned her winter cloak. Herbology was first thing in the morning.

In Herbology, the class was supposed to be weeding some of the more dangerous plants in the restricted greenhouse. There were only about a dozen students in the Advanced Herbology class and Hermione had a large section of the greenhouse to herself between the Venomous Tentacula and the Fanged Geraniums. Hermione pulled her hair back and donned her dragon-hide gloves and apron. She severed and trimmed with spells as she worked between one row and then the next, kneeling between the plants as she'd been taught to do. When the first row was done, she crept back out and moved to the second row. Severing and trimming then Vanishing the bits that fell to the ground.

Hermione's mind wandered a little as she worked, thinking about Ylva and her dreams. What did they mean? Was it just her subconscious trying to tell her what she already knew? That she'd loved her little girl despite the life debt that brought her into the world. Despite having Rabastan Lestrange for her father.

Hermione shuffled forward in her kneeling position, shifting. Her knee came down on some of the brambles that had been cut away just as one of the Fanged Geraniums nipped at her bum. It startled her but didn't hurt. What hurt was whatever Hermione had pressed her knee into. She moved back out into the aisle of the greenhouse and looked down at her knee, with slow blinking eyes. Red. Blood. On her knee.

There was something important about that but she couldn't really remember what. Something...

"Professor Sprout!" she yelled, mentally fighting against the strange way the poison worked into her system.

Professor Sprout came running and so did the rest of the students. Professor Sprout and Blaise Zabini knelt next to her. Professor Sprout was saying something but Hermione couldn't make out the words. Things felt slow and heavy, and she wanted to take a nap. Her hearing was buzzing and her sight was going blurry. Someone held a vial to her lips and she drank. Someone squeezed her hand as she was hoisted up with a spell and she was laying out on a stretcher.

The buzzing was getting louder and the blurry blobs of colour were going grey. She felt, rather than saw, her body being floated into the castle. Instead of the cold air, nipping at her nose and ears, there was a rush of heat. She thought maybe the ceiling was dark but then there wasn't anything at all.

When Hermione woke again, she was in the sterile, white infirmary. She didn't like the feeling it gave her to wake up in a hospital bed again. She blinked at the gritty feel in her eyes and looked around. Madam Pomfrey was standing close to her.

"Glad to see you've finally rejoined us. Do you remember what happened?"

The words even echoed her time in St Mungo's and her skin broke out in gooseflesh as a chill slipped up her spine. Madam Pomfrey said nothing but conjured another blanket to lay on top of her. "Herbology, I knelt on something. Venomous Tentacula spike, maybe?"

"Indeed. It's a good thing you fought through the initial slowness, otherwise, we wouldn't have got the antidote in you in time. Next time you're kneeling in a dangerous garden bed, you need to make sure that apron goes all the way down past your knees."

Hermione blinked, trying to remember both all the information she could about Tentacula plants and what exactly had happened to cause her to be so careless. Only a few words fell out of her mouth, though, and surprisingly they were in a coherent order. "Spikes are deadly."

"Yes. And you knelt on one. Every clue says that you were doing what you ought, except you forgot to Vanish the bramble before moving forward. Slipped your mind, maybe."

"I let my mind wander," she murmured, more to herself than to the Mediwitch, "got distracted."

"Yes, but the antidote has done its job. You're fine now. Well, in regards to the poison. You're still about a stone and a half underweight."

"Working on it. Thought a gradual increase was best. The house elves have started providing me with an extra snack in the evenings when I'm reading in my room though I don't know who asked them to start doing it."

"That'd be something you'll have to take up with the Headmistress. Now," Pomfrey said, her no-nonsense tone bleeding away, "Professors McGonagall and Sprout would like to have a meeting with you tomorrow for lunch."

"Is it still Friday?"

Madam Pomfrey huffed a little laugh. "It's still Friday. Time for dinner though, so you have the option to eat here or in the Great Hall."

Despite not wanting to socialise, Hermione chose the Great Hall because the infirmary made her queasy.

 *** . * . ***

 **Saturday, 14 November 1998**

Hermione stood on the spiral stairs and breathed deeply before knocking on the Headmistress's door. At McGonagall's call, the door opened and Hermione entered. Professors McGonagall and Sprout were already sitting at a small table near the windows.

"Come in, Hermione. Come have a seat and chat with us," McGonagall said.

Hermione did, taking the last empty chair and crossing her ankles. She looked at her hands in her lap for a moment before looking back up to Professor Sprout. "I wanted to apologise for the mishap in class, Professor, I—"

"Nonsense, Miss Granger, it was just an accident. We all have them. It was great thinking to yell out for me, though. I should have thought to offer dragon-hide leg protection as well, I didn't realise the plants had grown so low." Professor Sprout smiled warmly at her and reached over and patted her shoulder.

"Let's talk over a little luncheon," McGonagall said. The table settled heavily with food from the kitchens, courtesy of a listening house-elf. They ate the small cup of butternut squash soup and nibbled on toasted sandwiches while the three of them talked about the weather, touched lightly on Quidditch, and spoke of Hermione's classes.

The conversation segued nicely into one a bit more personal. "I'd heard you had a less than peaceful summer," McGonagall said. "Anything to those rumours?" Her eyes crinkled around the edges as she quirked her lips in a smile.

Hermione swallowed. "What do you want to know?"

"Anything you're willing to tell us. Sometimes things just need to be said. Talking helps heal, you know," Sprout answered.

And so Hermione told them. Told them about how Rabastan Lestrange had called in a life debt. Told them how foul and filthy he was in that Ministry cell. Mentioned her research about pregnancy and going to the conjugal suite. She told them how her mind reeled when she attended his trial and how she felt about being outed by his barrister. Everything about her parents and Malfoy being sweet came pouring out and then she abruptly shut her mouth.

Her nose prickled again and she scrunched her eyes. She felt McGonagall pat a handkerchief into her hands.

"Whenever you're ready, Hermione," she said.

Hermione took a deep breath before slowly talking about her decision to stay at the Weasley's home after flying back from Australia. "I wanted a sense of normality and home. I wanted hugs and comfort. Mrs Weasley gives those out in abundance. Then Rabastan fire-called to ask me to come back and then there were men pretending to be Aurors raiding his home. We duelled and I was hit with a spell. The next thing I remember is waking up in hospital." She dabbed at her eyes with McGonagall's handkerchief. "Rabastan told me I'd lost our baby, apologised for it because he said the spell was meant for him. Then he said goodbye. He just left me there. And there was this horrible Healer, though Harry assured me he heard what she'd said to me and reported her to her supervisor. What she said still... really bothered. Still bothers me. I wanted my little girl!"

And then Hermione was lost to her weeping.

Sometime later, she realised that both McGonagall and Sprout were holding her hands and she was sniffling. She looked up, ready to apologise again for spouting tears so easily.

Sprout stopped her. "I know, Hermione. I know what it's like to lose a child," she shared a sorrowful smile. "I wish I could tell you that it stops hurting but you just learn to work around it. You learn to love around the scar it leaves on your heart. Time will make the wound easier to bear."

"I've been having dreams about her. My little Ylva. She had dark red curls and her father's eyes."

Sprout shared a look with McGonagall. "Is that what's been distracting you lately?"

"I... yes. I was thinking about my dreams when I must have got careless with the bramble and knelt in it," Hermione confessed.

"Maybe you should speak with Madam Pomfrey about some Dreamless Sleep. At least before the more dangerous days of classes—Herbology and Potions. I'm not saying to stop your dreams entirely, though they don't sound very healthy to encourage."

Hermione looked down at her lap, squeezing both of the older women's hands before letting go and bringing the handkerchief to dab at her eyes and nose again. "I know. I didn't realise how distracted I'd become by them. I know it's not healthy. She's gone."

There wasn't much to say after that. The older women spoke more platitudes and Hermione tried to take them to heart. Her soul did feel a bit lighter as she left the Headmistress's office even though her head felt heavier. She wondered if Malfoy had a headache potion he could give her. Or even that combination potion he'd given her before. She did not want to venture into the infirmary again.

Taking a chance, Hermione went down to the eighth-year corridor and knocked on Malfoy's door. She waited a moment but when she didn't hear anything she assumed he wasn't in his room so she turned to towards her door. A nap might help with the migraine. She got four steps across the hall when the door behind her opened.

"You could have just come in, Hermione, the password hasn't changed," Malfoy said quietly. She turned and looked at him. He was dressed in dark jeans and a thick green, cable-knit sweater, leaning against the door frame.

"Ah, migraine again?" he asked as if he could tell by looking at her. She supposed that maybe he could. Her eyes felt puffy and red and her sinuses were still a bit clogged. She walked back towards him and he stepped back, letting her into his room.

It looked almost the same as hers, except instead of red bedding and curtains, his were green. His window was shaded. His room felt smaller than hers. She walked over to sit on his bed and realised he'd enlarged it, and the bed was taking the extra space in the room.

Malfoy was quiet as he opened the lower drawer on his bedside table, pulling out a little vial. "Here," he offered her. "Just the migraine relief."

She took the vial from him, drank the potion, and then handed it back. He Scoured it with a flick of his fingers and then returned it to the drawer.

"Can you show me the sinus spell you used on me before?" she asked.

"I... umm. It's actually a spell that my mother used on me when I was small. You can't cast it on yourself," he unpocketed his wand but waited for her permission to cast the spell.

She closed her eyes and nodded, taking in a deep breath immediately after he cast. "Thank you."

"Zabini said you'd been ill in Herbology yesterday. Are you all right?" he asked, coming to sit on the bed facing her.

"I was careless and forgot to Vanish the bramble after I'd cut it off the plants. Knelt on a Venomous Tentacula spike," she said it casually like it wasn't the death sentence it could have been.

His jaw clenched. "I'm going to hex Zabini. Ill? You could have died!" His voice had gone quiet, despite the passion with which he said it.

"It's all right, though. I fought through the fog and called for Professor Sprout. I remember her and Zabini running over to help me. I don't really remember much else after that except waking up in the infirmary. Not a pleasant way to wake up. Again."

He dropped his gaze to his hands in his lap, seemingly unsure what to say. They sat quietly for some time while the potion eased her migraine.

She didn't know what she intended with her last comment. Did she want him to bring up her miscarriage? Give his condolences maybe? But he said nothing. It wasn't any better. Finally, she found a topic of conversation. "How are you doing in your classes? What are you taking?"

"Just a few less than you, I think. Potions, Transfiguration, Charms, Arithmancy, Defence. Had to drop Ancient runes to take Muggle Studies."

Hermione's eyebrows came together. "You dropped Runes for Muggle Studies?"

"Had to. Part of my sentencing. Had to come back for my eighth year, take Muggle Studies. Spend several hundred hours in Muggle places and around Muggles and write reports based on my experiences. The few of us that were Marked when we were underage were supposed to be rehabilitated and re-educated instead of punished," he said.

"Oh," she said, unsure of what to say in response. "Well, were you able to capitalise on the time we spent in Australia?"

"Yes, and the shopping, the travel agency, the air travel. I was even able to write a bit about going to the pub and the café while we were there. They were Muggle places with Muggles in them. I thought that's why you agreed to let me come, that you knew about the sentencing."

"I had no idea. I'm sorry I didn't know, but I'm glad you came with me. I don't think I could have... Survived, really, without you."

"You would have survived. Hermione Granger is a survivor. You would have found them eventually, I think."

"I think I was able to break down because I felt safe..." she whispered. "You are safe."

He half smiled and turned his head away from her. After a moment he reached out and grabbed her hand, giving it a firm squeeze before he released it. They were interrupted a few quiet moments later by Parkinson knocking on the door and speaking loudly.

"I wish you'd give me the password, Draco. You said you were going to be in the library, but you're not. So I assume you're in there. I need to work on my Charms homework, you said you'd help me with it." After several more knocks and speaking to him through the door, she started whining, "Come on Drakey, I know you're in there. Are you moping again? Please come out! I'll do that thing for you that I know you like if you come out, or let me in..." the last three words she said in a lower pitch like she was trying to sound seductive.

Hermione raised her eyebrows and looked at Malfoy questioningly.

He frowned and got up, opening the door, stepping out, and then closing the door quickly behind him. Hermione could hear their voices but couldn't make out the words and she realised that Parkinson must have been speaking quite loudly to be heard through the door. The door reopened a sliver, and Hermione heard Malfoy.

"Let me grab my bag and I'll meet you there." He slipped back into the room and shut the door firmly so she couldn't attempt to follow him in. He turned to Hermione and whispered, "Sorry. I... I'm going to go on up to the library to help her. There's about an hour before dinner. You can stay in here if you'd like or—"

"I'll wait a few minutes before going back to my room," she offered, realising that he must not want Parkinson to know she was in here. She didn't want to get between Parkinson and Malfoy if they were dating. That's not the reason she came to him. He just had really good potions and he knew how to sit in companionable silence.

He nodded, grabbed his bag, and left. Hermione watched her watch, giving them five minutes before she slipped from his room and across the hall into hers. She crawled into her bed and decided to take a nap before dinner. Instead, she slept through until morning.


	14. Chapter 14

**Sunday, 20 December 1998**

Before Hermione realised it, the Christmas holidays had started. She hadn't even thought about going home for them though that might have been because she felt conflicted about where home was. For almost her entire life it had been the house her parents had lived in. When she was on the run with Harry and Ron, home meant someplace warm and safe, but it always meant wherever Harry and Ron were. And now they were living together at Grimmauld Place but the townhouse didn't feel like home either. For a few months over the summer, home had meant Lestrange's manor. Maybe home would be the Burrow now.

In any case, Hermione had pushed the thoughts of home aside to think about later and continued her studying into the holiday. She still faithfully went to the Gryffindor common room on Saturday nights and the inter-house common room on Sundays.

Ginny had gone home for the holidays, as did most of the students. Malfoy, however, had not. When Hermione walked into the common room she found Malfoy sitting by himself in front of the crackling fireplace. Hermione glanced around, making sure Parkinson wasn't around before she walked over and sat beside him, jostling him enough to make him open his eyes.

"Hey," he said after he'd looked over at her.

"Hi," Hermione replied. "Happy early Christmas," she whispered, though she continued to stare at the fire instead of at him.

"Are you going home for the holiday?" Malfoy asked.

Hermione's eyebrows scrunched. "The train left last Saturday, Malfoy. If I were going home I wouldn't be here now."

"Oh, well, I was going to Apparate to the manor tomorrow morning from Hogsmeade. Since we're of age, during the holiday we can go down into the village. I thought I might pick up a last minute gift or two and then go see Mother."

Hermione glanced down at her lap before looking over at him. Hoping to sound teasing, she asked, "Have you put off your holiday shopping until the very last moment, Malfoy?"

He grinned and nodded. "Yes. That's how I usually do it. Let me guess, you had presents all purchased and wrapped by September."

"October. September was a little rough this year."

"I do have one thing that I purchased early. Want to come back to my room?" His voice sounded earnest but his words oozed suggestion.

She raised her eyebrows at him.

He looked panicked for a moment after he realised what he said. "No, no. I mean, I have a gift for you but it's in my room." He chuckled as he dropped his head and rubbed his hands over his face. "That sounded just as wrong." He looked back up at her. "I apologise. If you'll excuse me, I'll be right back," he said formally. The stiff language seemed to come naturally in his fluster. He stood and walked from the room.

Hermione listened to the fire crackling and closed her eyes, basking in the warmth it gave off. As she waited, there was a soft popping sound and the clink of spoons against mugs as an elf set a tray on a low table. "Thank you," she said to the elf without opening her eyes.

"Welcome Miss," the elf said quietly before another pop, this time louder. The door of the common room opened and Hermione waited for Malfoy to join her. She only opened her eyes when the sofa cushion jostled her.

He was sitting on the edge of his seat, holding a small, flat box.

Immediately, Hermione was wary, thinking of the last time he'd offered her jewellery. This box looked different but it may just be a different piece from the Malfoy set.

He seemed to notice her non-verbal reaction and reassured her. "No, it's not betrothal jewellery. I've... I've learned my lesson, I suppose. Surprising you with something that important probably wasn't the best way to go about it. The point is moot now, anyway. But yes," he said, handing her the box. "It is jewellery, but..." he bounced his eyebrows in an expression that told her to open the box.

She did and inside was a beautiful necklace and a matching ring. Her eyes widened, wondering what the significance was with this gesture. "I can't..." she started to say but the words trailed off at the look on his face.

"I bought them in Sydney in an antique shop while wandering around brainstorming ideas to find your parents. Abalone isn't used in betrothal jewellery. The pearls, yeah, that might be a nod in my direction, but I thought the few small pearls were tastefully done. I know Muggles use rings as engagement pieces but that's not why I bought it. I bought it because it was a set and I thought you might like it."

Hermione was confused. "You bought me jewellery even after I ruined your proposal?"

He half smirked but the attempt at levity didn't show in his eyes. "I thought I'd get another chance." He sighed heavily. "In any case, I bought them for you and you can wear them whenever you'd like and no one will know they're from me."

She ran her fingertip over the ring and picked it up, testing it on her finger. It surprised her when it fit. "How did you know?"

This time the smile reached his eyes. "I didn't. I did look up a charm that would resize it in case I needed to. It's just pretty Muggle jewellery. No enchantments, no expectations."

Hermione touched the gold of the necklace again. "Thank you, Draco," she said. "Happy Christmas."

"Happy Christmas," he replied.

 *** . * . ***

 **Thursday, 15 April 1999**

Hermione knocked on the door to Professor Vector's office. She'd officially stepped up as the Head of House for Gryffindor when Professor McGonagall became the Headmistress. The door swung inward, allowing Hermione to walk in. Professor Vector was standing behind her desk. "Come in, please have a seat, Miss Granger." When Hermione sat, so did Vector. "Now, I know you're in your last year of schooling and you had career counselling in fifth-year. Your file has several notes in it saying you were undecided about what you wanted to do for your career. Do you still feel that way?"

Vector was a middle-aged, short, dumpy witch with a bubbly personality. She was passionate about her subject, Arithmancy, and she was very good at it and teaching it to others. She was the reason Hermione couldn't decide between Charms, Transfiguration, and Arithmancy as her favourite subjects.

"I'm still unsure. I want to be able to apply myself. Aside from my school subjects, I'm good at research, but I have to admit creativity isn't one of my strengths. Professor Snape always seemed frustrated that I never tried to deviate from the book-written instructions in our potions lessons."

"That's a fair assessment, I would say. But I think you do have creativity in other areas. Potions just weren't something that came intuitively to you, like they did Severus. Things like Arithmancy and Transfiguration require creativity and you do really well in those subjects," Vector said. "The Ministry has owled the Headmistress to encourage our students to aim to work there. Is that something you might see yourself doing?"

Hermione recalled telling the late Minister Scrimgeour that she would never work in the Ministry, but it seemed so long ago now. "I didn't want to work in the Ministry if I could help it. All I really know is that I don't want to be an Auror. I wouldn't mind doing something that works with Aurors, though, as a number of my friends are going through training. Eventually, my goal is to free house-elves and promote equal rights between other magical beings. I'd also like to get rid of obscure laws, the custom of betrothal jewellery, and confinement garments."

Vector nodded as she wrote down a note on the parchment in front of her. "That's a lofty goal, Miss Granger, and you'll no doubt be fighting against the grain. Especially with regards to house-elves and goblins. I don't know how successful you'll be at getting rid of confinement garments. They are important so people know to be respectful around a pregnant witch. Even the most loathsome of our society wouldn't think of harming a witch in a confinement garment. Children are too precious. And families that use betrothal jewellery are so rare these days; a witch can always decline them if they're offered."

"And the claiming thing? The horrific concept of being married to someone you don't like and the only recompense is to kill them before they rape you?" Hermione asked.

Vector's eyebrows had raised and her mouth had gone slack in shock. "I'm not sure where you've come across those things but they're barbaric and no one does that anymore. They're old wives' tales from when families arranged marriages. Arranged marriages are a thing of the past; no one with the authority to officiate a wedding would do it if one of the people involved was against it. It's just not the done thing anymore." She paused and took a deep breath, obviously drawn off-target by Hermione's questions. "Anyway, I think a career in the Ministry would be the best place to start. The Auror training does have a course regarding laws on the books and you might be able to sit in on one of those even if you don't join the program. I don't think going directly into law would be the best thing for you. Despite your dedicated study habits, you seem quite restless these days and law requires a lot of self-motivation," she offered a sad little smile that spoke of pity rather than sympathy.

Hermione crossed her ankles and glanced at her hands in her lap to hide the fact that she felt discomforted by Vector's pity.

When Hermione didn't say anything, Vector continued. "There's a new sub-department that's being opened up. The witches or wizards that are going to be hired or moved to that department aren't Aurors but they'll deal with Dark Artefacts and the destruction of such, or the dispelling of Dark Magic. It will require brainstorming and research, attention to details, high marks in Defence Against the Dark Arts, Charms, and Arithmancy and a working knowledge of Ancient Runes. There might be a need for Potions but I've been told they'll be hiring a Potions Master from the continent for consultations. You've got all the qualifying marks for it. Not all the time will be spent behind the desk. There will be times when agents would need to do field work, I've been told. Going to homes or businesses to collect Dark Artefacts—but not raids. Does that sound at all interesting to you?"

It did. Hermione found herself nodding as she thought about the chance to work with Dark Artefacts. There was still some risk but it wasn't going out and trying to 'catch Dark wizards' as Harry had put it when he talked about joining the Aurors. "I... I really do like the sound of that. Are they sure they want to hire directly from Hogwarts, though? Surely new hires would need information on curse-breaking, which can only be gained through a year's apprenticeship with Gringotts. I'm not on the best of terms with Gringotts at the moment."

"There wasn't any information in the owl about curse-breaking. It's likely if that's needed, they'll subcontract it out."

Hermione smiled, thinking about the distinctions between breaking curses and dispelling Dark Magic, they weren't the same thing but they were related. She wondered about on-the-job training and how much extra research a job like this could require. Still, it was something. If it was a sub-department of the DMLE then she might get to work with Harry and Ron on occasion. "How do I apply?"

 *** . * . ***

 **Saturday, 3 July 1999**

The sound of students laughing and shouting their excitement that the school year was finally over were drowned out by the Express whistle and the slow chunk-chunk of the steam pipe as the train started to move.

Hermione wasn't feeling the excitement. Her leg bounced restlessly as she watched Hogsmeade disappear out of view when the tracks curved around a mountain. All that was left was the musical drumbeat of the locomotive and the tinkling squeaks of the compartment cars as the train made it's way south. That was it. Her time at Hogwarts was officially over. She didn't feel particularly excited about it nor did she feel proud or accomplished like she thought she would. Instead, everything felt tarnished. The shine had worn off of going to a magic school sometime in the last seven years and there wasn't any going back to before.

Not that there was a before to go back to. Harry had issued an invitation to live in Grimmauld Place with him and Ron. Mrs Weasley had owled and told her the Burrow would always be open to her. Hermione sniffed. No, she was going home. To a closed up house. To take the dust covers off of the furniture, to stock the refrigerator, to have the electricity and water turned back on. Home. She had quite a few things to do to settle the house. Getting the deed changed over to her name would be the first step, followed by finding out if her parents had any funds in savings. Then she would go through the things her parents had left behind and after she started working full time, she'd renovate. The house was hers and she would make it home.

Hermione had owled The Dark Artefacts Agency and learned that it was actually a subdepartment of the Department of Mysteries. They had found in the past that although 'mysterious' was an apt description of an Unspeakable, it was also lonely and that very few were applying for work that they would never be able to speak about, even with their loved ones. Creating the branch for Dark Artefacts was the first step in restructuring the department. Unspeakable Croaker was in charge of new hires and said that pending her official N.E.W.T.s scores, she had the job.

She had yet to tell her friends. She figured they would probably all be gathering at the Burrow for dinner tonight and she would tell them there, along with her plans of reopening her parents' house. Hermione wondered how her friends would react to her new job. Would they think it suited her? She wondered if Ginny had also spoken with Professor Vector and talked about what she was planning. Now though, Ginny was in the prefect's car, going over the end-of-term notes and acknowledgements. Hermione remembered those from when she was prefect herself.

She continued to watch the scenery pass by in a green blur even as they passed under heavy, dark rainclouds. The windows were pelted with fat raindrops and the pattering was enough to lull her into thinking a nap was the best way to pass the train ride home. The compartment door slid open. She was proud of herself when she didn't jerk and immediately draw her wand. She had relaxed some of her stringent paranoia while she was at Hogwarts this last year as she healed from her battle wounds. Not reacting like someone was always out to get you was a good thing. 'Constant Vigilance' was all well and good in war, but Moody wasn't known as 'that mad, old Auror' for nothing.

Malfoy stepped in and stuffed his hands into his pockets. "Hello, Granger," he said.

"Hello, Malfoy." She gestured towards the seat opposite. "Have a seat."

He looked at it and then back at her, a puzzled expression on his face like he was wondering why she was sitting alone. "I'd better not, Pansy and Blaise will start looking for me after a while. Lovely jewellery, by the way."

She reached up to touch the necklace with the hand wearing the ring. She grinned. "Thank you, it's lovely. I don't remember if I thanked you when you gave it to me."

"You did. I was wondering if—"

"What are you doing in my compartment, Malfoy?" Ginny's voice spoke over his low tones, defensive.

He smiled, "Weasley," he greeted her. He turned back to Hermione, "Best of wishes with everything, Granger. Hope we cross paths again sometime."

"Thank you, Malfoy."

He turned and stepped past Ginny, hands still in his pockets. She pulled the door shut looking confused. "Was he just polite to you?"

"He was... er, wanted to marry me, Ginny, remember? Why wouldn't he be polite?" Hermione shifted to sit on her feet, leaning toward the rain-spattered window pane.

"Yeah, I remember, but I... I suppose it never occurred to me that he might act nice to you. Nice necklace, by the way, was that a present from Ron?"

Hermione shook her head and smiled. "Picked it up in Sydney, thought today was a good day to wear it." She knew that even if she tried to explain to Ginny how pleasant Malfoy had been she wouldn't believe her. Probably because half the time, Hermione had a hard time believing it herself. She knew being nice to her had the ultimate goal of marriage but Hermione still wasn't sure why. There had to be more to his motives than that unless he just really wanted to spite his father. Figuring out Draco Malfoy would take a degree in psychology and years of study and that sort of studying was something Hermione was proud to say, even to herself, that she had no interest in.

"So, what are your plans, Ginny?"

Ginny's smile was infectious as she started detailing her plan to get picked up by the Holy Head Harpies and how she was well on her way to her goal. Hadn't Hermione seen the scouts in the stands at the last two games of the year? Hermione found it humorous that Ginny would think so. Quidditch just wasn't her thing. She went and watched to support her friends, cringing whenever a bludger came too close to them, but she wasn't a fan of the sport like Harry and Ron. And Ginny. And the rest of the Weasleys.

They spent a large portion of the train ride playing Exploding Snap. Then Ginny decided to go visit all of her other friends. Hermione begged off to take a nap since she'd said goodbye to the majority of her friends before she'd got on the train.

Ginny shook Hermione's shoulder to wake her from her nap and told her they were about ten minutes from King's Cross. "Are you sure you don't want to say goodbye again?"

"I'll owl them all later in the week. I've got some news that I want to share with you and Harry and Ron before I tell them. So I've got something to write about."

"You're not pregnant again are you?" Ginny's eyes went wide.

"And how would I have done that, Ginerva? Asexual reproduction? I'm single if you hadn't noticed."

"Oh, right. You're not planning to go back to the Death Eater are you?"

Hermione sighed dramatically. "No, but his name is Lestrange, Ginny. And I'm not telling you my news—which is happy, good news—until I'm at your family's house and we're eating dinner. The train ride always exhausts me, you know, and a good meal and surrounded by family will be wonderful."

"But what does that have to do with not telling me the news first?"

"I'm tired and don't want to have to repeat myself," Hermione explained.

"Oh," Ginny nodded, shifting in her seat, trying to hide the bouncing of her leg. Instead, she tapped her fingers on her knee. "I can understand not wanting to explain twice. Half the time you have to do that just for Ron, no need to go making it worse." She giggled and Hermione joined in.

"Just that," Hermione agreed. She looked up as the train whistled and started decelerating.

"You're still in your school robe, Hermione," Ginny said.

"That's all right. I'd plan to just wear it at your house and change for bed once I get there. It goes back to the exhausted thing. Changing once is better than twice when I'm not going to be seen by Muggles."

"We might have to go through the Muggle side of King's Cross, though. I don't know if we're all going to Apparate home or not. Do you want me to Apparate you home if we do? If you're exhausted..."

Smiling, Hermione said, "That's all right. I bet Harry or Ron could do it. Even I could technically do it, I've Apparated Side-Along both of them before, exhausted and malnourished."

"Yeah, but you don't have to now. You look much healthier than you did this time last year, you know. You've got boobs now."

Hermione laughed, "Ginny I've had boobs since fifth-year!"

"Yeah, but, I mean you've gained weight and now they're, you know, Va va voom!" She teased, holding her hands out in front of her own bosom.

The train whistle blew again and they could hear the other compartment doors sliding open. "Let's get these trunks and get out there. It's always a crush." Hermione levitated her trunk and Ginny levitated her own, happy to be able to do magic outside of school. They joined the queue of students getting off the train, having to wait behind the younger one who couldn't levitate their own trunks. A few seventh and eighth-year Hufflepuffs were at the steps, helping the younger students pick their trunks up and put them onto the station trolleys. Hermione grinned to herself as she passed them. Once passed the clutch of younger students, Hermione and Ginny moved further back from the train near the wall to look for their family. It didn't take long.

"Ginny!" Harry's voice called out and he seemed to swoop in from nowhere to pick her up and hug her tight, spinning her around and around.

Ron came up to Hermione and slipped his arm around her waist. "Hey, Hermione. Hope they get that out of their system now, he's been talking about Ginny for the last three weeks. She wrote something in her latest owl that had him climbing the walls."

Hermione could think of quite a few things that might have got Harry excited for his girlfriend. Were they officially dating now? She leaned into Ron and rested her head on his chest waiting for Harry to notice she existed too. It took several minutes of kissing before George cleared his throat immediately behind Harry before he let go of her. Mr and Mrs Weasley just smiled at them, though there was a quirk to Mrs Weasley's smile.

There were lots of hugs all around and Mrs Weasley said that dinner would be ready almost as soon as they got home. Hermione discreetly asked Harry if he would Apparate her Side-Along to get her to the Burrow.

"But you hate Side-Along? Plus, who'll take your trunk?"

"Ron," she called. He turned and she pointed to her trunk. "Can you take that for me, Harry's going to Side-Along me and—"

"Of course," he said. It was such a strange answer from him that she almost wanted to ask him security questions. Her puzzled look at Harry only made him shrug.

They Apparated to the Burrow where Bill and Fleur and their two-month-old, Victoire, were entertaining Charlie and Percy. Ginny launched herself at her older brothers, excitingly telling them about the scouts for the Pro-Quidditch leagues.

Hermione asked Mrs Weasley if she needed any help in the kitchen.

"No, dear, thank you though. Why don't you and Harry—" she looked over to wear her daughter was talking excitedly to Bill and Charlie, still clinging tightly to Harry's hand, "Why don't you and Ron take a walk about the garden for a few minutes; I'll call when everything's ready."

Ron had heard and walked up to Hermione, slinging his arm around her shoulders and leading her to the door. Once they were outside and strolling, he spoke, "How've you been?"

"Ron, I owled you weekly," she said, rolling her eyes and laughing slightly to let him know she was teasing.

"I know, but you didn't really, you know, say much. You talked about classes and the changes at Hogwarts and about other people. You even talked about your plans to change the curriculum when you got the chance, but you didn't talk about you. So... How've you been?"

She smiled, wondering when he'd grown up so much when she felt stagnant. There was a flash of memory in her mind, tanned bare skin against hers, the burned Dark Mark still mottled green on his forearm, a little girl's giggles. Maybe she wasn't as stagnant as she felt. "I'm okay. A little sad about things but looking forward to the future."

"You're sad? Not because you didn't have to marry that git, right? Just sad that you're leaving Hogwarts."

Hermione wasn't sure he would understand even if she did try to explain so she went with what he was sure to understand. Losing family. "My parents are dead, Ron. Before the war, they were always so proud of my accomplishments, so happy even if they didn't really understand about Transfiguration or Charms or Potions. Leaving school, properly I mean, was always such an exciting goal but now that I have, it feels sort of bittersweet. I've done this really great thing and I think my NEWT scores are going to be fantastic but they aren't here to celebrate it with me."

"Oh," he said, his voice low. "Yeah, I get that. Losing Fred's been hard on all of us but especially George. I've been spending weekends helping out at the shop, you know, and he'll be working on something and I'll hear him shout in excitement and turn to his side as if to show Fred. Then he gets this lost look in his eyes like the thing he was excited about just wasn't that exciting anymore."

Hermione nodded, glad that Ron seemed to understand. Mrs Weasley called from the kitchen window that dinner was ready, so Hermione tucked her hand around Ron's elbow and headed towards the door. At first, he didn't realise what to do, but when he did he crooked his elbow and escorted her. Though he fumbled at the door because he wasn't sure whether to try to hold it open from the outside or go inside to hold it. Hermione just chuckled and Ron grinned at her.

Over dinner, Hermione told them about her news about moving into her parents' house and her pending job. There were cheers all around and Bill offered advice regarding protective spells he'd learned in Egypt to protect her from some of the residual Dark Magic that sometimes leaked from objects.

After dinner, they were all squeezed into the sitting room talking about random things. Fleur had ended up moving around the room, letting anyone hold the baby. Ginny was delighted to, Ron seemed a bit clumsy, and even Harry held little Victoire.

When Harry finally handed Victoire back to Fleur, Fleur turned and placed her in Hermione's arms without bothering to ask.

Hermione's arms had come up to cradle the little one but her breath hitched and her eyes began to prickle with tears. Victoire grinned at Hermione and reached up to grab a loose curl that had dangled over Hermione's shoulder. Hermione swallowed hard and tried to stem the tears she didn't want to bear, but it was no use. When she opened her mouth to ask Fleur to take the baby back a whimpered sob came out instead.

Mrs Weasley realised the problem before anyone else. She was up and taking the baby back from Hermione before Fleur could even ask what was wrong, gently passing the baby off to her husband who had stood as well. Mrs Weasley guided Hermione up and into the kitchen and onto a stool. "You're all right, sweetie. It's okay to cry," she told her gently.

Hermione tried to take a deep breath but it sounded ragged. She blinked to stop the traitorous tears and dabbed at her cheeks. "I'm sorry, I didn't mean to—"

"Hush," Mrs Weasley chided. "Why don't I fix you some tea; put a little something special in it to help you sleep, hmm? Then you can go right up to bed and not even bother saying goodnight. I'll tell them all for you."

Not ten minutes later, Hermione crawled under the covers of her bed, feeling pleasantly drowsy and warm. She would deal with everything later.


	15. Chapter 15

**Tuesday, 31 August 1999**

Hermione dressed in her sensible, dark grey robes as she dressed for work. Crewcut neckline, slim sleeves, and a tea-length skirt with low, comfortable heels. She tucked her wand and her agency badge into her pockets The abalone and pearl ring that Malfoy had given her was the only jewellery she wore.

In the kitchen, she grabbed a premixed protein shake and drank it while she looked over the Muggle newspaper. It always delivered an hour before the Prophet. For a few weeks Hermione had subscribed to the Prophet, but the owl had rarely arrived before it was time for work and she couldn't pay the owl for the subscription if she wasn't there. It didn't make any sense to keep the subscription after she realised that.

Nothing too terrible stood out to her in the Muggle paper, just the usual blather about rising taxes and political factions. She tossed the shake container in the sink and the paper in the bin. She picked up her brown dragon-hide briefcase that had been a present from Charlie Weasley and locked her door behind her before she apparated to the Ministry atrium. She strode to the lifts and took one down to the Department of Mysteries.

At the spinning room, she stood in the centre and spoke clearly. "Dark Artefacts Agency." The door on her left opened obediently. She walked through and made her way to her cubicle. She set her briefcase down on her desk and checked over any memos she'd received. A request from Croaker to be less verbose on her reports, a note from Harry to meet him and a few others for lunch, and a note about the newest objects acquired for her department.

"You're here early," Patricia Smythwick, Hermione's partner called as she came strolling in. Her dress was similar to Hermione's, more function over form, though she wore a simple pearl necklace to accent her light pink robes. Smythwick was about eight years Hermione's senior and had originally been an Unspeakable. Which sub-department she worked in, she'd never said.

"I'm here on time, you mean," Hermione said, smiling in greeting. There was no love lost between the two women, but there was a healthy bit of professional competition between them. Neither spoke of their personal lives though Hermione had tried when she'd first been hired five weeks ago. She figured it was a leftover from Smythwick's days as an Unspeakable.

"Have we got anything new?"

"A few things, trinkets that might have blood magic residue. Nothing grand," Hermione said after looking over the notes again.

"Blood magic residue. Couldn't they just send that sort of thing to maintenance?" Smythwick joked as she looked over any notes in her own cubicle.

"Please, has maintenance fixed that broken lift yet? Besides, why would we want to send any artefacts away when we don't get that many? If all they've got for us in a week is trinkets with dried blood on them, why send away the only work we've got?"

Smythwick laughed. "You're right. When they said they were restructuring and moving people, they didn't mention how slow this job would be. Least we can research in our free time otherwise I might go barmy."

Hermione picked up her biro and notebook, spiral bound because it was just easier than parchment, and headed back to the long table where the Artefacts were always left. When she got to the table she catalogued each item, taking notes as she went.

There were three rings, a necklace, a jewellery box with a broken hinge, and an athamé. "Really? Who was doing the magic, I wonder, Muggle teenagers who were pretending to be witches?" Smythwick mumbled over Hermione's shoulder.

Hermione cast a diagnostic charm on the whole pile. Her eyebrows went up when there was more magic residue than she'd expected.

"Maybe not Muggles, then," Smythwick commented. She levitated the jewellery box and athamé to her side of the table and began the tedious process of dispelling the Dark Magic.

Hermione looked closer at the four pieces of jewellery. She consulted that list of betrothal jewellery in her mind and nodded to herself. These pieces looked like they might be a part of that.

The first ring she looked at was relatively plain. Only yellow gold and a large light green, almost translucent stone. Hermione thought through her list. Yellow gold and peridot? No, there wasn't a yellow gold-peridot set, the green stone had to be prasiolite. _Abbott_. The second ring had a warmer tone to it. Rose gold and another green gemstone, this one darker than the other. The detailing of the gold wrapped the stone in leaves and vines. This one was peridot. _MacDougal._ The last ring was an obvious art deco piece because of the white gold filigree around the marquise cut amethyst. White gold and amethyst. _Brocklehurst_. The necklace was the most elaborate, with twenty-four dark purple stones, set in yellow gold. It looked like it would drape elegantly along the collarbone when worn. The stones looked like polished amethyst, cut cabochon style. _Bones_.

Hermione cast spells at each now that she knew what she was looking for and confirmed that all four were betrothal pieces. That explained the blood magic. It didn't explain the actual bits of blood flaking off the stones and metals. Those four names sounded familiar and Hermione stepped away to think. She walked across the room lost in her thoughts and poured some charm-boiled hot water over a teabag. "Of course!" She said after a moment. She finished making up her tea and took it back to the table.

"You've got something? Besides the blood, I'm not seeing much residue on the box itself. The athamé has the most magic but I haven't figured out what was being done with it aside from some sort of binding spell."

"These are betrothal pieces," Hermione explained. Smythwick just raised a brow. "There were four girls in my year, two Hufflepuffs, Hannah Abbott and Susan Bones, and two Ravenclaws, Amanda Brocklehurst and Morag MacDougal. I'm going to speculate that they were friends and were worried about growing apart now that they're out of Hogwarts so they got their hands on betrothal jewellery, perhaps their mother's pieces? And tried to—"

"Right," Smythwick interrupted good-naturedly. "They wanted to make friendship bracelets or make themselves blood sisters or something. It didn't take because of the enchantments on betrothal pieces."

"Exactly," Hermione agreed. "There's nothing actually wrong with the jewellery. I think the betrothal enchantments will still work they just need to be cleaned by hand to preserve them."

"The Dark Magic is the athamé. I'll need you to hold the containment spell so I can break the misapplied binding spell but then we can drain the Dark Magic. It seems older than the binding magic."

"Probably is. They might not have noticed the Dark Magic in it until the binding spell came back on itself instead of attaching to the jewellery."

"Do they not teach students how to check for Dark Magic anymore?"

"If that was something we were supposed to pick up in Defence Against the Dark Arts, let me remind you how inept almost all of our teachers were."

"Oh, I know about the curse on the position. I went there too but our professors seemed competent at least."

"I think by the time we came around they were scraping the bottom of the barrel. I haven't heard whether the curse was lifted when Voldemort was defeated though. Have you heard anything?"

Smythwick winced at the name but continued the conversation as though she hadn't. "I don't keep up with Hogwarts news. I know you're just off there but even if I had children they wouldn't be school-aged yet."

"I think I'll owl Headmistress McGonagall to ask," Hermione said. She cast the containment spell for Smythwick to finish up the work. Once the Dark Magic was dispelled, all six pieces were set aside and tagged to be returned. Hermione sat at her desk and wrote up her version of the report, elaborating on her conjecture. Smythwick would detail her report regarding the binding curse and dispelling.

When there was nothing more to do, Hermione checked her watch. Still two hours before lunch. She sighed, thinking about how excited she'd been to start this job. When there was work it was interesting and different, but there seemed to be more downtime than work. She decided to write that owl to McGonagall and she sent a flying memo to Harry to confirm lunch details. Then she moved over to the large bookshelf and picked a book she hadn't read at random. Might as well make use of her time by researching.

 *** . * . ***

 **Friday, 10 September 1999**

Hermione was already sitting in her cubicle researching dark magic theories when Croaker walked in with Smythwick. So maybe she hadn't been late again. Hermione chided herself, it didn't matter if Smythwick was always late. They rarely had anything to do and if the woman wasn't there then that meant Hermione got to work on any of the artefacts that had turned up for them that day.

"I've got an assignment for you ladies," Croaker said coming to stand near Hermione's cubicle, "I know I mentioned when I hired you that sometimes you'd have to go on location. Some items are too big to be moved safely being one of the main reasons for that, but this time, your assignment is going to the artefacts because the client is unable to bring them in themselves."

Hermione opened her mouth to ask who but Croaker just handed a folder to Smythwick, nodded to Hermione, and then saw himself out. She pursed her lips. "What's in the folder?"

"Oh, the client has detailed all the pieces. Looks like there's nine items in total, books, jewellery, and a few other things. No mention of donations so it seems he wants to keep them all," she paused in her little detailing. "Are you ready to go then?"

Hermione frowned. Was there not any mention of who the wizard was? She knew that sometimes the clients preferred to remain anonymous, like the betrothal jewellery case two weeks ago, though she had figured out who the pieces belonged to anyway, surely they needed at least an address to Floo to. She nodded anyway.

"There's a Portkey here, but it won't activate until we're in the atrium," Smythwick said as she turned and headed back towards the door, expecting Hermione to follow.

Ah, maybe the client did wish to remain anonymous, at least to begin with. It might be that a caretaker or even a house elf would be the one to bring her and Smythwick to the artefacts and they would never know who the client was. They didn't speak in the lift nor did they say anything until they were in the atrium. "Here," Smythwick said, offering Hermione the handle of a little metal spoon. It was a strange even for a Portkey and Hermione wondered if it was sent by the client.

She grabbed onto it tightly and Smythwick said the phrase to activate it. There was a hooking sensation behind Hermione's navel and then the spinning dizziness of Portkey travel. The first thing she saw when she opened her eyes were trees. She turned, looking around. She had a strange sense of déja vu for a moment before her world seemed to tilt on its axis. She recognised the view, even though it was just a red gravelled road and trees.

"It's this way," she told Smythwick, who looked more turned around than truly seemed necessary. Had she expected to Portkey into the man's parlour, perhaps?

"How do you know?"

"I just do." Hermione led the way at a brisk walk, wishing she'd worn a different outfit. Instead, she was wearing tea length dark blue robes with a square neckline showing off her collarbone and the abalone necklace Malfoy had given her. Her ankle almost twisted in her heels but she corrected her footing through sheer force of will. She wouldn't limp into his house. She wouldn't show weakness despite feeling a burgeoning sense of panic under her sternum.

When the house came into view, Smythwick paused momentarily to admire it. Hermione continued on. She'd seen it, she'd lived in it, she knew how beautiful the house was inside and out.

Smythwick caught up with her, panting slightly. "So, since you knew which direction to go, should I take that to mean you know who lives here?"

"Yes."

"It's a Death Eater on house arrest," she said, like that was all Rabastan was to anyone.

"Yes."

"And you're not worried?"

Hermione stopped short and turned to look at Smythwick. "Are you?" she asked.

"Well, not really, but I wasn't on the battlefield. I was tucked safely away—"

"In your little half-blood corner of the Ministry where nothing and nobody disturbed you. I got that much. And no, I'm not worried. Lestrange... I'm not worried."

"You're walking awfully fast, though. Not planning to hex our client are you?"

Hermione blinked. Is that what Smythwick thought? That Hermione was going to _attack_ their client? It was so absurd Hermione wanted to laugh. Instead, she just shook her head and strode the last few steps to knock on the door.

The door opened immediately and Dorna, dressed in a crisp, white pillowcase, stepped out. She smiled brightly up at Hermione, ignoring Smythwick entirely. "It's so good to see you, Mistress Hermione," she said formally. Hermione wondered if the formality was something she was asked by Rabastan to show or if it was for Smythwick's case. She caught the sideways glance that Smythwick gave her but ignored it.

"Good morning, Dorna. Mr Lestrange has some dark artefacts that he'd like us to have a look at."

Dorna had stepped back as soon as she'd greeted Hermione, but when she realised that Hermione wouldn't enter without being asked she squeaked a little. "Of course, Mistress, please come in. Master _Rabastan_ ," she emphasised tilting her head slightly back toward the kitchen, "has been looking forward to your visit." Hermione looked up from the elderly house-elf in the direction she had tilted her head. She smirked when she saw Rabastan step from the doorway. It seems he'd finally got the little elf to at least call him by his proper name in front of guests. He looked well. He had never truly looked gaunt, but he'd had a haunted expression when she'd last seen him. Now, he looked every bit the pureblood prince he was. He filled out his forest green, finely-tailored robes well. His hair was longer, closer to what it might have looked like before the final battle. Before he'd been left to sit in is own muck for a week and had to cut it off.

"Good morning, Miss Granger. Thank you for coming on such short notice." Hermione's emotions threatened to boil up and over from where she'd hidden them in her heart. It'd been a year and she had no idea her emotions regarding this man were still so tender.

"Patricia, this is Mr Rabastan Lestrange, Mr Lestrange, Agent Patricia Smythwick."

He smiled in Smythwick's direction then returned his gaze to her. "My apologies. It's Agent Granger, then?" He paused but not long enough for her to answer. "Would either of you care for tea? I can have the house-elves prepare a light brunch."

"No, thank you," Smythwick answered. "If you could show us to the artefacts we need to cleanse of Dark Magic, that would be great." The rest of her comment, though unvoiced, was obvious in the rigid lines of her back and shoulders. 'So we can leave as soon as possible.'

Hermione wasn't sure if she admired the woman's professionalism in her fear of a Death Eater or if she was annoyed at her obviously rushed day. It's not like they would have anything to do back at their cubicles. There weren't that many Dark Artefacts in all of Britain, in Hermione's opinion. Or else they'd set the fee for cleansing pieces too high. Not many people would want to donate the items to the Ministry just because there was now a specific agency that could safely take them.

"Maybe a cup of tea after business," Hermione tried to soften her partner's harsher refusal.

He nodded and gestured them towards the stairs. "The room I have the pieces in is in the east wing of the house and upstairs," he said as they proceeded him up the stairs. That was the wing with their bedrooms. _His bedroom_ , rather. Of course not _theirs_. Never _theirs_.

They walked up the stairs and headed down the hall, past the portrait drawing room. Hermione wondered if he spent many of his days in there, talking to the portraits. Or maybe downstairs in his study, talking with his father. She wondered if he'd ever found his mother's portrait.

A house-elf called his attention and he stopped but called out to her and Smythwick, "It's just the third door down on the right."

It was her old sitting room, or it was supposed to be. Whether Smythwick was that nervous, or just completely lacked a brain, she stopped at the second door instead. That room hadn't had anything in it when she'd lived here so Hermione didn't think anything of Smythwick opening the door. She would just see it was an empty room and realise her mistake. Smythwick opened the door just a Rabastan's voice called down the corridor, "Not that—"

It was too late. Hermione had seen into the room. It wasn't what she expected. The room was painted a cheery golden yellow, with butterflies and birds and branches. The white, lace curtains fluttered in the cool breeze from the barely open window. Beneath the window and opposite the door was a crib, laid with more pristine, white lace.

Hermione's breath hitched. Without conscious thought, she stepped closer. From what she could see the room looked clean. No dust fluttered in the light filtering from the window. There was a rug on the floor, worn like it had been tread on a thousand times and a rocking chair in the corner. A plush teddy bear sat on the chair. Beside the chair was a small table with a book on top, as if the book had just been laid aside after reading a bedtime story.

Her eyes prickled instantly and her nose started to itch. She knew a sound had come out of her mouth and assumed it must have been a strangled sob when Smythwick turned from the door and looked at her like she had grown a second head.

"Please, not that room," Rabastan said as he came close to them. He walked into Smythwick's personal space to pull the door shut. "That's private." He said it like it should have been obvious.

Smythwick just stepped back and turned to Hermione. "What's _wrong_ with you?" she hissed, though it was completely silent in the hall so Rabastan had to have heard her. "Snap out of it, we'll be out of here soon enough."

Smythwick made a half apology and went one door down and opened that one. Hermione glared at the back of her head. She wanted to hex the woman. She'd read the entire situation as if Hermione was scared of Rabastan and upset at the thought of him with a nursery? How thick could someone be? But Hermione knew better. Smythwick wasn't one for gossip columns or water cooler chitchat. She'd never heard about Rabastan's trial or about Hermione's personal life. Even Hermione's friends hadn't heard about it right after everything happened.

She took a deep breath and let her eyes seek out Rabastan's. He shared a look with her that seemed to say how utterly broken he felt, but he didn't move. His eyes just took her in, gazed at her in a way that made her feel desperate for something she didn't understand. Then he turned his head away from her. "I apologise, Agent Granger, though I think your partner must be a dunce if she can't count to three."

"I agree," Hermione choked out. She didn't know what to do, so she forced herself to walk to the third door and do her job.

"I left the books for you," Smythwick said to her as she walked in the room. Sure enough there on her desk were three very ancient looking texts. Smythwick, as usual, had taken the shiny things to work on. A large silver ewer, a silver potions vial that looked like something swirled inside, and three pieces of jewellery. Left for her, aside from the books was a large, bronze door knocker shaped into a lion's head with two snakes in its mouth.

Rabastan walked up beside her. "This one," he said, gesturing at the thick book that looked like the cover was made from skin; it gave Hermione the creeps just looking at it, " is the Lestrange Grimoire. Family spells that aren't to be shared with others. But the book is cursed against anyone not of a pureblood line. I'd like that curse removed. The next one is of deadly poetry. If you open and read just one, you'll be drawn in and never be able to close the book. There have been at least two deaths caused by people being trapped into reading until they died of dehydration or starvation. Those who have been pried from the book have gone mad. It's said that the poetry inside is some of the most profound writing anyone has ever encountered. Another legend says it was written by the gods themselves and that's why mere mortals can't read it without perishing or succumbing to madness."

Hermione's eyebrows had raised. She'd heard about a book like that though the comment about the gods seemed a bit exaggerated. She tried not to look at him even though he stood so close to her. "And the last one?" she asked.

"I'm just tired of it nipping at my fingers whenever I want to read it. Dolph hexed it when I was a child to stop me from reading it when he wanted to play. It's a book of fairytales."

Hermione felt herself grinning. She wondered how often her parents would have done something similar to her own books as a child to stop her from reading at dinner. Or during church. Or during piano lessons.

"Do you have a story about all of the pieces?" Smythwick asked. "The ewer seems normal to my scanning spells."

"No matter what is poured into the ewer, what comes out is blood usually from the last person the pourer touched. No matter the distance between them in time or physical space."

"The potion vial..." he paused, "I think a great uncle tried to charm a star into it as an experiment. I think he might have made something much blacker than that. If you notice what's inside seems to consume light."

"He made a black hole in a bottle?" Hermione asked.

"Potentially. Dolph had great fun threatening to put my fingers in it and then later my wand. We did lose quite a few carrots, flowers, and sticks from the gardens into it. Whatever is inside, nothing comes back out."

"Merlin," Smythwick whispered in awe. "Are you sure you don't want to donate this to the Department of Mysteries? This seems like something that could have its own department devoted solely to it."

"It's likely connected to the Veil of Death," Hermione said, "And we know what happens when a person falls through that. Non-existence."

"I'd heard about the theory but no one's ever been brave enough—"

"Sirius Black was knocked back into the veil three years ago," Hermione answered harshly. "I would say I've seen it in person but I was unconscious at the time." Smythwick just looked up wide-eyed at them.

"I saw it. I saw Bellatrix's spell knock him back. He fell and then simply vanished. Hearing Mr Potter's anguished screams were gut-wrenching."

Hermione's eyes widened and she turned to look fully at him. She'd forgotten he was there that night. She'd forgotten they'd crossed wands before.

He leaned closer to whisper, so softly in her ear that she scarcely heard him, "I didn't curse you."

She spoke quietly but not because she cared if Smythwick heard her or not. "I know, it was Dolohov's fire curse that struck me. Took ten different potions and two weeks to heal me."

"I never cast anything stronger than a Stupify. I went after the blonde little girl."

"Luna. She only ended up with scrapes and bruises," she confirmed.

"Are you going to work or not?" Smythwick asked, interrupting their whispering.

She turned back to the desk. "And the door knocker?"

"Bites."

Hermione couldn't help it, she snorted. "The lion or the snakes?"

"The lion, I think. It was never used in my lifetime, but there was a Gryffindor-Slytherin triad in the family long ago that used it. Apparently, before it was taken from the front door someone cursed it to keep Gryffindors out. Which is ridiculous because instead, it bit everyone that tried to use it."

"Well, since you've illuminated us on the others," Smythwick said loudly, "Maybe you can tell us about the last three." She had said it in an obnoxious way as if his commentary was annoying her. Hermione supposed it might be. She loved hearing what each Dark Artefact did but Smythwick was more into the technical aspects of the power of the Dark Magic used and how to get rid of it. Hermione liked the history and richness of knowing the story behind each one.

Rabastan nodded politely as if her request hadn't been a rude jab at him. "The onyx mourning brooch perpetuates mourning. It sucks cheer and happy thoughts like a Dementor. The snake pendant is usually given as a gift. At a word from the giver, the snakes will slither up and strangle the recipient to death."

"And this beautiful piece?" Smythwick levitated the necklace. The chain itself was set with tiny diamonds, and the pendant was surrounded by diamonds as well. The centre was a dark gem, but Hermione couldn't place exactly what it was. Not onyx, though, because it was faceted rather than polished.

"Orlov Black Diamond. Said to drive the women who possess it to suicide. A great-aunt twice removed was the last owner."

Smythwick raised a single eyebrow as if wanting confirmation that the curse was real and the woman was dead.

Rabastan looked at Smythwick with a slightly bored expression. "Attempted to self-decapitate. Exsanguinated instead."

"Oh! Eww."

"You asked," Hermione muttered. Then she started working on the spells to diagnose the curses and Dark Magic entwined into the artefacts in front of her. She stopped once to glance around for parchment or paper, she wanted to take notes. Without thinking about it she opened the third drawer down and pulled out a roll of blank parchment then opened the centre drawer and pulled out a self-inking quill.

"Oh, just make yourself at home, Granger. Not like you to not at least ask the client if it's okay to dig through his things."

Before Hermione could brush her off Rabastan answered, sounding particularly brassed off at the witch. "This was her _home_. This was her sitting room. Of course, she knows where things are; she put them there!"

"Wha-, uh..." Smythwick looked at a loss for words as she bounced her eyes back and forth between Hermione and Rabastan. Hermione all at once felt embarrassed and vindicated that he'd spoken for her like that.

Not knowing what to really say in the silence that followed Hermione tried to get back to task. "Can you hold the containment spell, Smythwick? I know how to unweave the curse on this one," she pointed to the book of fairytales.

Smythwick seemed even more in a rush after Rabastan's pronouncement. She hurried Hermione through the dispelling of her items and tapped her fingers on the table as she waited for Hermione to finish taking notes. Hermione wasn't going to rush and do her job any less thoroughly because Smythwick was nervous.

"You can go on ahead to the drawing room for some tea if you like," Hermione told her partner. "I just want to jot down a few more things here."

Smythwick's eyes widened. "I'm not staying for tea!" she hissed, again not realizing that Rabastan was right there and heard her every word.

"Then perhaps Mr Lestrange or Dorna can escort you out? I don't think Croaker will mind if I stay and have tea with our client. He offered," she paused to look at the watch on her wrist, "and it's lunchtime."

Smythwick took in a deep breath like she was planning to berate Hermione for insubordination but Rabastan chose that moment to shift his weight from one foot to the other and cross his arms. He raised his eyebrows at her as if waiting to hear what she had to say. She reframed from scolding Hermione. Instead, she said, "I'll just go then. Mr Lestrange, if you'd be so kind as to get your house-elf to escort me out?"

Once her partner was out of the room, Hermione felt relief and a different sort of tension creep up her spine. "I'm sure I'll hear all about it later from both her and Croaker," she murmured. "I just wanted to recheck her work because she rushed it."

"I'd be delighted if you'd stay for tea, Agent Granger, you didn't have to use it as an excuse," he said. His voice had returned to calm and quiet but he ruined Hermione's recollection by using her title.

"You can call me Hermione, you know."

"It wouldn't be proper any longer."

Hermione frowned but didn't argue. She cast her diagnostic spells on the items that Smythwick had been working on. "She didn't even bother with the black diamond. She put a masking spell on it to try and obfuscate the Dark Magic residue."

"If I report her, will that be detrimental to you?"

"Maybe. If I teach you the containment spell I can disable the curse and cleanse the item, but I can't do it by myself," she glanced over at him.

"My wand is at your disposal."

She taught him the spell and they worked together to rid the black diamond of its curse. After writing down a few more notes, including the fact that Smythwick had tried to mask the Dark Magic rather than remove it. Hermione folded and tucked her parchment into her pocket and set the quill back in the drawer. She turned to him. "I do apologise for using the parchment and quill, I didn't even think—"

"No apology is needed," he said. He gestured for her to proceed him from the room. "Now, what would you like for lunch? I'm sure the elves would love to—" he stopped when he glanced at her.

Hermione didn't realise she must have grimaced or frowned.

"You're leaving then?" He asked quietly.

"I really do need to. I worry what she'll think I'm up to and what she might say to Croaker. She does have seniority and favour with our boss just from their previous working relationship."

"I understand," he said, though his voice had gone even softer and he looked down at the floor as they walked. "Thank you for the small bit of company you've provided today. It gets lonely here. I think I know the elves' history almost as well as my own." They had made it to the front doors by then and Hermione turned towards it, trying to think of what to say.

"Mistress?" An elf's voice said from her left. She looked up and four pairs of large eyes looked at her. She recognised Krob, Dorna, and Limpet; their skin tinted the slightest bit to denote their roles in the household. Dorna was grey, Limpet was ruddy to resemble the coals of a fire like the one she tended in the kitchens, and Krob was slightly leaf-green as he worked among the plants. There was a smaller elf that was also grey that Hermione did not know. She walked over to them and knelt down to be at their level. "I'm not your mistress, you know," she said gently.

"You is in our hearts and that be all that matters. Dorna and Limpet had friends helping at Hogwarts. They is making sure you eat. Who is taking care of you now?" the youngest one asked.

"I take care of myself."

"And your house?" Dorna asked.

"And your gardens?" asked Krob.

"I don't really have a garden, just a little yard with a lilac shrub," she told him, and to Dorna, she said, "And I take care my house by myself as well."

"You is needing an elf to take care of you, Mistress," the youngest said again.

"I live in a Muggle neighbourhood, I can't have elves." She tried a slightly harsher approach to saying 'no,' since they didn't seem to be taking the hint.

"Oh," the youngest said, looking down. He looked back up at her and asked in earnest, "Won't you come back? You is healthier now, Mistress, you can has a new baby. You didn't have to leave because the other one died."

Dorna hissed something at the little one and he cowered.

Hermione just stared in shock. Feeling angry and hurt and slightly confused by the whole situation, she stood up and turned to Rabastan. "I'm... I need to leave."

"Mistress!" Dorna called, stepping after her and handing up a basket that Hermione hadn't seen before. "Please don't be mad at Taupey, he is still such a young elf that he is not be knowing what he said was wrong."

Hermione took the basket from Dorna without thought, still reeling from the words the littlest elf had said. She blinked and felt a tear slip down her cheek. "I've... I've got to go now," she said not directly to any of the elves or the man standing there looking crushed. She took three steps past the door and Apparated to her parents' house. Her house.

 *** . * . ***

Hermione stumbled through the door still clutching the small basket Dorna had given her. She set it on the counter and made her way directly to her bathroom stripping off her clothes as she went. She wanted a shower—no a bath. She plugged the tub and turned the taps on full blast, mentally encouraging the water to pour faster. When the water level was high enough she turned off the taps and then made the water warmer with a flick of her wand.

She stepped into the water and winced as it almost scalded her, her magic having warmed the water too much in her emotional state. She hadn't overpowered a spell like that in a long time. She slowly eased down into the too hot water, only wincing twice more as she settled all the way in. She'd acclimate and the water would cool eventually.

She just needed to be alone in the privacy of her own home.

After a long time of just sitting there, she finally decided to wash her makeup off and reached up to touch her face. Despite the slightly pruned texture to her fingers and the residual heat they put off from the still overly warm water she could feel wetness on her face. More tears.

She had thought that she had cried all of the tears she was going to cry last year after everything happened. She didn't think she had any tears left. Apparently, she was wrong. She hated herself in that moment. Today had been one wrong move after another.

The image of a nursery, waiting. Being alone with Rabastan. And then a few misspoken words by a house-elf she didn't know. A young elf. It dawned on her then that that young elf was possibly the one Limpet bore to be Ylva's nanny. She was supposed to name him but she wasn't there. Hadn't been there. There hadn't been a point. There was no baby and no marriage, and really no relationship. Hermione didn't know why thinking about the whole situation hurt so much, still. Wasn't the pain ever supposed to go away?

When she finally decided to get out of the tub she felt like she'd been wrung out both mentally and physically. The too hot water had caused her skin to redden and lingering too long had caused it to prune. Wrapping herself in her bathrobe and letting the water drain, Hermione decided she might be able to handle whatever was in that basket.

She walked into the kitchen to see an owl sitting at the perch inside the open window. She went and retrieved the note tied to its leg and gave it a treat. The handwriting was that of her boss. She didn't want to open it, afraid of what Smythwick had told him but did so anyway. She settled at the table to read the note.

 _Agent Granger —_

 _Wondered when you didn't show back up with Smythwick what the problem was. She just clammed up and said there had been something going on between you and the client and she didn't want to get into whatever the Death Eater business might have been._

 _Got an elf-delivered scroll from the client that mentioned how Smythwick was rude and tried to obscure Dark Magic instead of cleansing it because she was in too much of a hurry to leave. He explained how you went above and beyond the duty of your job by allowing him to watch and work with you to cover Smythwick's lack. I'm not sure whether to praise you or give you a demerit for asking the client to help with the cleansing._

 _He also mentioned that one of his house-elves had said something regarding your personal history to upset you if that's why you didn't show back up at work. It's not like you had any work waiting on you back at the Agency. It's not my business to pry. Hope you feel better soon._

 _Unspeakable Croaker_

 _PS: Smythwick was spoken with regarding her attitude towards clients and her professionalism on on-location assignments._

She swallowed and took a deep breath. It wasn't as bad as she was expecting. It wasn't bad at all actually and that surprised her. She had thought for sure that Croaker would take Smythwick's story at face value and not look into it further since she was the senior of the two. Perhaps his response had more to do with Rabastan's letter as a client paying for services that weren't as well rendered as they should have been.

She set the letter aside and pulled the basket close. What could the elves have possibly given her? She hoped it wasn't any more hints about babies. She opened the basket and reached in, realising that it utilised wizardspace and was larger on the inside. The first thing she pulled out was several casserole dishes with covers, and though they felt normal to the touch she assumed that the inside was kept cool or warm with elf magic. The next things she pulled out were a silver vanity tray for a dressing table with mirror, comb, and brush. She doubted she would ever use a brush with such soft bristles; it would never work at detangling her hair. She also pulled out a smaller basket beautifully crafted silver bottles. Each was labelled. Shampoo, conditioner, body wash, body lotion, perfume. She blinked when she looked at the handwriting on the label. It looked feminine but she couldn't quite place it.

There was a note tucked between the bottles.

 _Dearest Miss Granger —_

 _I know the few times we've seen or spoken have been trying, difficult, or downright awful, but I'd like to make an overture of peace. According to my son and Rabastan, you've used my potions before without trouble. Potions are a speciality but vanity products are more fun to create because of the scent blending involved._

 _This set is specifically meant for you. Draco has said that your favourite flowers were lilacs and lavender. I've added hints of amber and vanilla bourbon to balance it out. I hope you enjoy them._

 _Thank you for being kind to Draco since the final battle. I know at times he is too much like his father—prickly and downright obnoxious—but he does have a tender heart. Lucius and I just didn't rear him to show it properly._

 _I hope that you're doing well in your personal life and career._

 _Yours humbly,_

 _Narcissa Malfoy_

Well, that was unexpected. There was one last tiny thing in the basket. A ribboned bookmark painted with the most delicate brush strokes of a scene of a garden. The scene looked familiar. She stared at it, thinking. When nothing came to her she set it aside and decided she'd like to eat something. She opened one of the dishes and smiled. This was one of her favourite meals when she'd been at Lestrange's house. She stood up to go into the kitchen to get a fork and on the way back she glanced at the bookmark again.

That's when she recognised it. It was a view of the gardens from a window in her room in Lestrange Estate. She flipped it over and all that was on the back was Rabastan's signature. Had he painted this? It was beautiful work and Hermione gently ran her finger over his signature. She narrowed her eyes when she noticed the slightest indent above it like he'd written something with the quill pressed down but without dipping it in ink first.

 _I miss you._

She finished her meal. Took her new things to her room and bathroom respectively and then found a picture frame with a picture that had space to one side of the subjects. She slid the bookmark behind the glass and hung the frame back on the wall. It was too pretty to use and she couldn't have mementoes like that lying around to confuse her emotionally when she thought she'd got past everything.

* * *

AN: If you visit my tumblr I have images that inspired all the dark artefacts there: ivyentwined (tumblr url) (slash) tagged (slash) war bride


	16. Chapter 16

**Monday, 20 September 1999**

When Hermione Apparated into the atrium she didn't expect to see her boss talking with Draco Malfoy. She approached them rather than head for the lift.

"Ah, just a smidge early like usual, Granger. I believe you know Mr Malfoy, yes?" Croaker said. At Hermione's nod, he continued, "It seems that Mr Malfoy has recently been going through his collections and come across quite a few Dark Artefacts that he'd like you and Smythwick to cleanse. He's interested in the process and since he's planning to donate quite a few of those pieces to the Ministry once they are free of Dark residue I think it's quite all right to let him into the office, so to speak. So take him down with you, please. He says he's got several items for you to have a look at in his bag."

Hermione again nodded, "Of course," she told her boss. She looked up at Malfoy and he smirked. Hermione was reminded of how his father had worked the Ministry, getting his fingers into every pie and she wondered if he was planning on doing the same. It sounded like his donation of artefacts was going to be a big boost to the Ministry coffers on top of the pricey fee that came with asking the Dark Artefacts Agency to get rid of residue.

She wiped her clammy palms against the fabric of her charcoal grey trousers. She fidgeted for a moment with the hem of her Gryffindor-red blazer before tilting her head to acknowledge him. "Right this way, then."

Instead of following behind her he walked beside her. She'd become so used to him offering his arm to escort her when they were in Sydney last year that she felt awkward not reaching out to him. She tightened her hands into fists to stop from fidgeting. It hadn't been that long ago that she'd seen him, he'd said goodbye to her on the train not three months ago, so she didn't know exactly why she felt nervous now. Perhaps because now she realised how comfortable she had become with him before and now there was a strictly professional air between them.

His dress shoes thudded quietly on the tile floor along with her tapping kitten heels until they got to the spinning room. "Dark Artefacts Agency," she said aloud. The door opened behind them this time and she entered first. Smythwick was there waiting for her.

"Oh, you've brought company," she said, sounding the slightest bit flirty.

"Patricia, this is Mr Draco Malfoy, a client who's planning on donating items through our department. Mr Malfoy, this is Agent Patricia Smythwick." Hermione introduced.

She narrowed her eyes as Smythwick smiled, somewhere between flirting and simpering. "You can call me Trisha if you'd like," she told Malfoy.

Malfoy smiled graciously, "It's a pleasure to meet you, Agent Smythwick." He turned to Hermione, "Where should I unpack the Dark Artefacts? There's about a dozen or so."

Smythwick glared like it was Hermione's fault he'd addressed the wrong witch. Although they were partners, Smythwick was the senior of the two and he should have directed his question to her. Hermione led him over to their work table and watched as he pulled a mokeskin bag out of his pocket.

"Like I said, there are about a dozen or so items here. All of which are being donated to the Ministry. Later, I'll need the Agency's services to come to the Manor to dispel some of the larger pieces. We have some furniture that needs cleansing." From the mokeskin bag, he pulled out a small wooden box with decorative etchings on it. It was then that Hermione realised that he was wearing thin leather gloves. The box itself must have held Dark Magic as well as whatever was inside it. He pulled two clay jars out that were sealed with wax, both of which had carved lids—a jackal's head and a falcon's head.

"Canopic jars?" Hermione said, "Why do you..." she closed her mouth when Smythwick glared again.

Malfoy just chuckled. "Don't ask me, I found them in a bathroom in the wing of the Manor I'm having renovated. The whole area reeks of dark magic and I'm trying to get all the small things out while I decide whether I'm going to have it torn down. Mother is of two minds about it, as well."

What he didn't say but she understood was that that was the wing of his manor that Voldemort had inhabited, and with his soul split as much as it was and with all the Dark Magic he used, it was quite likely that the abomination of a man leaked Dark Magic.

After the jars, Malfoy pulled out four books and a stack of wood blocks. Hermione couldn't help herself, she leaned up on her tiptoes to see the top of the stack of flat wood and then jerked back, eyes wide.

"Should have mentioned that before letting you peek. The woodcuts are of very violent, Muggle tortures."

She shuddered and watched him as he pulled one last thing from the bag, a small enamelled egg, decorated with a peacock and jewels. Smythwick, forgetting her brain for a moment, reached out for the wooden box to open it and start working. No doubt curious about the pretty things inside. Dark witches and wizards always loved cursing pretty things. "The box itself is cursed, so please don't touch it with bare hands, though I'm sure you know not to do that," Malfoy said quickly. Smythwick's eyes opened wide as she realised what she was doing. She pulled her wand and levitated it closer to her instead.

That left Hermione with the canopic jars, the enamelled egg, the books, and the torture prints. She stepped back to her cubicle to grab her spiralbound notebook and Biro. She was about to start the first diagnostic when he spoke again. "Bass said you liked to hear about the story or curse behind each item. There's a few I don't know anything about, like the canopic jars, but I know some of the others."

Smythwick looked up, seeming interested. "Yes, we'd love to hear what you know," she said cloyingly.

He raised his eyebrows at her and then glanced at Hermione and winked. "The box is Indian in origin. Said to have carried the heart of a god at one point, stolen from his shrine. Any who touch it go mad." Smythwick stepped around the table as if to get a better look at the box even though she could have just levitated it again. Malfoy stepped back reclaiming his personal space from her move. "The lock is a puzzle and it won't open unless you answer it correctly. I opened it this morning if you need any help."

"I can do it, thank you though," Smythwick said, but her body language was giving her away. Her brows were narrowed and her lips were pursed in an unflattering way while she stared at the trinket box.

Malfoy went on, pointing at the books. "All charmed to nip at fingers. Mother's work when I was a child. They're on sex magic and rites."

Smythwick's eyes widened and she looked covetously at the stack of books. Without even bothering to ask Hermione if she wanted to trade she levitated those to the far end of the table, returning to her usual spot further away. Leaving the trinket box for later. Hermione covered her amused snort with a slight cough.

Malfoy winked at her again. "The peacock egg was a gift to my father. It plays music when it's opened, but if you listen to it long enough your eardrums will burst and your brain will liquefy."

"How did he figure that out?" Hermione asked as she levitated the trinket box to her. The puzzle was a simple push-button lock. Above the lock in tiny script were runes. There were also four buttons with runes on each and she just read the tiny script and then answered the question it posed with the runes available, pressing each with the tip of her wand. The box lid sprang open immediately. Smythwick looked up and glared again before she returned to the books.

"Left it open too long with a hunting dog in the room."

"Poor dog," she murmured. "Couldn't have left it open with Voldemort in the room?"

He chuckled in amusement that time. "Afraid not. The Dark Lord was always attended by someone else that we didn't want killed. Severus. Bass," he shrugged like it was no big thing, "Mother."

"I didn't realise they had to wait on him like servants." Hermione talked while she levitated the jewellery from inside the box to the table and then started working on cleansing the box. It didn't require a containment spell so when she was done she set it aside and wrote a few notes about it.

"More stories?" she asked as Smythwick finished up with the third book.

"I believe it was my great-grandfather who was fascinated by the macabre. He collected Muggle torture instruments. Those woodcuts used to hang in his bedroom. If touched with bare skin they emit the sounds of the tortured. I don't even want to think about why he had them in his bedroom." He looked at the woodcuts on the table with disgust.

"That's foul," Hermione agreed, "But is it just sounds? They don't seem to emit much Dark Magic at all."

"I spoke with Croaker about the torture items and he said even if they weren't dark in nature, to donate them through the Artefacts Agency. No other Department really wants them.

"Sounds about right," Hermione said. She was worried that the canopic jars might have contained something like Horcruxes, but all that were on them were dark versions of normal stasis spells. "If I cleanse the dark stasis spells from the jars, I have a feeling we'll all be treated to the smell of whatever is in them." She paused, thinking, "Jackal would be the stomach. Falcon would be the intestines. Quite likely that both might have still held digested food. Smythwick, I'm going to need a containment spell for these, and I think we should all use the Bubblehead Charm to protect our senses. I'd rather not know what several thousand-year-old intestines smell like, no matter the stasis spell. No stasis spell is that good."

"I don't blame you," Malfoy said in reply and then cast a Bubblehead Charm at her and then himself. She startled, not expecting him to cast for her but nodded in thanks after a moment. Smythwick cast her own charm and then the containment spell. Even through the charm, they could detect the slightest hint of sulphur and rotted flesh.

"Should I cast a neutral stasis spell or break the wax and actually vanish what's inside?" She asked both Malfoy and her senior partner. Both gave her the most disgusted looks when she mentioned opening the jars. "Stasis spell it is."

After setting those aside with the other items they'd cleansed, she cast a light air freshening charm and looked at all the pretty jewellery. She turned and raised her eyebrows at Malfoy and he grinned.

"The brooch I don't know anything about other than it's called the 'Mother-of-the-Bride.' The gilded crow's foot was used in dark rituals to draw blood. The pearl and flower necklace strangles the wearer. The ostentatious necklace," he pointed at the beautiful but very busy necklace with pearls, tiny carved roses, beads, and diamonds, "causes the wearer's skin to prune like they've been underwater too long."

Hermione thought that was an odd curse and decided to work on that piece next. He continued to talk while she worked. "There some odd little torture ring—"

Hermione glanced at it then back at her work, "Clice ring. Used by some devout Catholics as a constant reminder of Christ's sacrifice." She heard Malfoy huff slightly in amusement. "Ah," she said after the diagnostic spell finished, "It's not Dark Magic. It's Mermish."

"The mermaids have a way of carving roses and faceting gemstones?" he asked, sounding genuinely interested.

"It's likely that they either scavenged the items from shipwrecks or engaged in trade. It's not meant to be worn by humans. Actually, it might cause mermaids to, er, masquerade as human. Sort of like The Little Mermaid."

"The Little Mermaid?" he asked.

"It's a Disney film." She glanced up and realised he still didn't seem to know what she was talking about. "Sorry, Muggle thing. Sort of like a series of moving photographs that tell a story."

"Hmph," was all the noise he made. Hermione couldn't tell if it was a sound of amusement, disbelief, or continuing confusion. "The last item is an engagement ring."

"Wizards don't do engagement rings," she said.

"But Muggles do. It's meant to be given as a gift to a muggle bride from the father of the groom."

"I have a feeling it kills her."

"Drains her vitality in less than twenty-four hours so when the groom wakes up the day after his wedding, his bride is a dried out husk of a body."

"That's an awful way to curse someone. Especially one's own son."

"And the proper pureblood response to that is, 'that's his own fault for marrying a Muggle.' There's a reason I want these things out of my house."

Hermione's eyebrows raised. A reason? Was he dating a Muggle? Or did he just mean that he didn't believe in the purity of bloodlines any longer? She didn't bother to ask for clarification; it wasn't any of her business.

Smythwick asked for a containment charm on the enamelled egg she was working on and Hermione provided one. There were only two pieces of jewellery left to do and between them, they got them done in no time.

"Thank you for the donation of so many interesting artefacts, Mr Malfoy," Smythwick simpered at him.

"Thank you both for allowing me to watch the cleansing process," he replied.

Malfoy said a further goodbye to both of them and left.

Smythwick sneered at her and Hermione didn't know why nor did she care. She gathered her notebook and Biro and got started on the stories behind each artefact as well as her reports.

 *** . * . ***

 **Thursday, 11 November 1999**

"Hope you brought a thick coat with you this morning," Smythwick told Hermione when she stepped into their shared office space.

"Have we been given an address this time, or just another Portkey?"

"Another Portkey."

"Great," Hermione muttered, rolling her eyes. She picked up her notebook and Biro, stuck them in her pockets and neatened her outfit, though she hadn't done anything to wrinkle it. As they took the lift back up to the atrium, Hermione asked. "Do we have the client's name?"

"It's Mr Malfoy again," Smythwick seemed to purr his name.

She hadn't seen Malfoy in over a month. "We're going to Malfoy Manor?" Hermione tried to hide the shake in her voice at the prospect of going back there but she wasn't sure she pulled off cool and collected. If her partner noticed, she didn't mention it.

"No," Smythwick answered. She smiled oily and preened for a moment, "No, Mr Malfoy asked Croaker if I could come alone to Malfoy Manor."

Hermione almost bit her tongue as she realised the truth of the situation. Malfoy would know that Hermione wouldn't want to step foot back in the house she was tortured in. At least not unless he tore that entire wing down like he had mentioned. Requesting Smythwick alone meant Hermione wouldn't even have to mention her past or her distaste for the place.

"The place we're headed is called Spinner's End. He inherited it or something."

The lift finally opened into the atrium and Smythwick led the way closer to the Floo network's bay of fireplaces. "Grab hold," she said, offering a bent coat hanger. After the hooking sensation had passed, Hermione looked around. They were in front of a little Methodist church. Across the square were a row of rundown little shops that look boarded up. To Hermione's right was a tall smokestack taking up the landscape. Along the road headed to the chimney were two sets of terraced houses lining the centre street. Opposite the chimney were two more identical sets of dirty, brown bricked homes. She could hear the rambling of a river nearby. Hermione cast a discreet Warm Air Charm to ward off the biting chill but the burst of warm air emphasised the foul stench of sewage and old charcoal.

"Ugh. If I were Mr Malfoy I would have just burnt whatever this place was. There's no salvaging slums," Smythwick griped. "It's this way," she said after a moment to look at her paperwork and the broken street sign on the corner. They walked together away from the chimney looming on the horizon. The sewage smell got worse the further away from the church they got. "This one," Smythwick said, covering her mouth and nose as she pointed to the last house on the end.

"Was there a key?"

"No, just a magical lock."

Hermione walked up the short, sad little yard. What tiny space for flowers there had been was now covered in dead bramble that looked suspiciously like Venomous Tentacula. It was obviously a wizard's dwelling. But whose? Who had died that might have lived _here_ that gave their belongings to Malfoy?

" _Alohamora_ ," Hermione whispered, letting herself into the room. It looked like the tiny house was a simple two-up-two-down with the sitting room in front. And what a sitting room it was. Every single wall was covered top-to-bottom in filled bookshelves. "Wow," she said, stepping farther into the space. "Who owned this?"

"Paperwork doesn't say. Just says we're to diagnose the whole house for Dark Magic but nothing is being donated and to not touch anything unless given express permission. Seeing as how Mr Malfoy hasn't accompanied us, I suppose that means we don't have permission."

"All right," Hermione said, glancing around again in awe. "Let's get started."

They worked along opposite walls. Dispelling any Dark Magic that might have lingered on any of the books. Most of them were clean already. Hermione tried to levitate a book in her second wall when it only tipped forward and triggered the door hidden there to open. As the shelf moved forward it illuminated a narrow set of steep stairs. She finished off her section of books before deciding to head upstairs.

" _Lumos_ ," she said, letting the light from her wand lead the way. The space was suffocating and draped in spiderwebs. The floor was so caked with dust each step she took sent up a cloud of it. The whole staircase seemed to creak every third step, and when she got to the top the landing felt like it sagged under her weight.

Hermione cast another diagnostic on the two doors. One room didn't seem magical at all. She turned the grimy knob and heard the grit in the hinges as it swung open. A simple bedroom with old cardboard boxes stacked along the wall. The single curtain was threadbare and so filthy she didn't know what colour it had originally been.

In fact, the whole house felt that way. Filthy, old, and dreary. It felt as if the whole town sucked the colour and life out of anything near it. She stepped back out and felt the floor dip and heard it creak. Rotted wood. It seemed one heavy gust of wind and this entire house would fall apart despite the outside being made of brick.

"Everything all right up there?" Smythwick's voice seemed loud as she called up to Hermione. "There's a potion master's dream of wizardspace down in the larder. Most of the ingredients are expired, though. Merlin, I'd love to get my hands on some of these things. Need me to come up?"

"Better not, the floor feels rotted and I'm worried it won't hold my weight, much less both of us."

"Don't break Mr Malfoy's property no matter how much of a shite hole it is."

"I won't," Hermione said. She almost forgot to cast the diagnostic; there hadn't been much Dark Magic here at all. Only a few of the thousand books. There was something in this room, though it wasn't entirely Dark. Maybe a mix of both. She eased the door open a crack, but this one didn't creak or grind. It swung open smoothly.

"Well, are you going to come in or not?" said a voice from within the room.

Hermione started and grabbed her chest. She'd not heard that voice in over two years. She stepped further in and looked around the room. "Professor Snape?" she called.

"Merlin, please don't call me that."

And sure enough, there was the animated portrait. He looked younger than the last time she'd seen him, younger even than when he'd taught them Potions. The man in the portrait looked to be in his late twenties. Dressed in all black, but resplendent in the fabrics and designs. He looked as rich as Lucius Malfoy had before Voldemort returned.

"Miss Granger," he spoke again, recognising her. So the portrait had been updated recently enough to know who she was. That could mean it was only as aware of things as her first year. "Was this your house, Pro, eh, Mr Snape?"

"Severus. My name is Severus, and yes, this dung heap was mine only because I inherited it from my father. Where is Draco?"

"He hired my partner and me to cleanse the house of Dark Magic and residue."

"There shouldn't be much of that around. Only a few books that are better left alone. Is my library intact, then? The house doesn't seem to have fallen down yet."

"Yes, sir, the library is intact. As is the potions lab downstairs."

He laughed, a bitter hollow sound. "Potions lab? Call it what it is: the kitchen."

"The staff at Hogwarts has been looking for your portrait, sir."

He sighed. "Please stop calling me 'sir.' My name is Severus. And don't ever hang this portrait in Hogwarts. I don't ever want to see that castle again."

"I feel bad leaving you here, though. I'm not sure what plans Malfoy has for the house."

"Take me with you. Somewhere besides this dump. I hated it in life and I hate it now."

"We were left specific instruction not to remove or even touch anything without permission," she told him, biting her tongue on the 'sir' she wanted to use.

He glared at her. "You have my permission to take my portrait out of this pathetic house. Actually, you even have my permission to get what potions ingredients are still viable to Narcissa Malfoy if she is still among the living. The books are mainly what I wanted to give Draco."

"Let me just go tell my part—"

"No. This room is silenced; she wouldn't have heard our conversation. Send her away or put my portrait in that indubitably clever handbag of yours."

"I... I don't have that bag anymore."

"Then, I don't know, find a sock and cast the Extension Charm and stuff me in. I'm tired of looking at these walls. I should never have Charmed a portrait, I knew I'd be bored for all eternity."

"It's a very..."

He raised a single painted eyebrow as if he were waiting on tenterhooks for her words.

"Splendid portrait, sir. Much nicer than the one Harry had painted to put in the Headmistress's office."

He winced. "Potter had my portrait painted for the... That office? Minerva's office now?"

"Yes," she said and although she felt absolutely absurd opening his wardrobe, she did so, hunting for a bag or if nothing else, a sock. "I detected some Dark Magic residue in here before I opened the door. Do you know what that was?"

"Did you not realise that charmed portraiture requires a dark spell to capture the essence of a person?"

She stopped still and turned around, looking more intently at the painting now. "Part of your soul's in the painting?"

He shook his head. "Not like... not like _him._ Nothing like that. Or else portraits wouldn't be in all the halls of Hogwarts. No, it's not a piece of soul but almost like capturing one's reflection in a mirror and keeping it there. It takes something from you but as it only activates when one dies, it doesn't matter so much."

Hermione reached out and touched the wool of one of his frock coats, hanging neatly in the wardrobe. There were no bags, so she opened a drawer to look for a sock. When she unpaired it from its mates, she turned to look at him. "Do portraits know how their witch or wizard's counterpart dies then?"

He swallowed and his voice, which was already deep went even lower in pitch and volume. "Sometimes there's more to the captured image than one would like to know. In certain cases, I mean. I know my death was traumatic, but otherwise, I don't know details."

"I was there. If you ever want to know," she offered, though she doubted he would. She doubted he'd ever even want to talk about the war. "You were awarded an Order of Merlin, First Class for your role in the war."

He snorted.

Hermione was quiet as she cast the Undetectable Extension Charm and waited the requisite three minutes before sliding her hand down into the sock until her arm disappeared up to her armpit.

"Looks stable enough. Hide me and let's go. I'm sure you have a report of some sort to write after being here."

"Yes, sir, I do. How did you know?"

"The Ministry loves paperwork and you loved writing such things."

She smiled, "My boss tells me to shorten them all the time but there's just so much important information that I feel should be included."

"Of course you do," he said, giving her a little smile. "Don't let your partner know about me. Tell her that you found a tricky mirror that seemed like it held residue but you couldn't isolate it. There's a spell that allows one to travel from mirror to mirror, it leaves tricky residue like that but it isn't dangerous. Unless, of course, you get trapped in the mirror."

"Okay. S—"

"Severus," he repeated still sounding agitated that she kept slipping and calling him sir.

"Okay, Severus. Headmaster Black always complained about me tilting the portrait, but there's not much to do for it. You're going to get jostled."

"That's fine. Just hurry up."

Hermione pulled the sock over one corner of the gilt frame and then slowly tugged, pulling the large frame inside the black wool sock. When the sock had effectively swallowed the painting she folded the top over and stuck the sock in the pocket on the inside of her blazer, right against her breast. She sniggered to herself when she thought of whom she had placed there. Then she strode back down the rickety stairs and told the lie Severus had provided. They left with only an hour left of the day to write their reports.

 *** . * . ***

 **Sunday, 19 December 1999**

The knock on the door alerted Hermione to her expected company. She was having Harry and Ron over for a small little dinner of her own making. She had decorated her sitting room and kitchen with festive lights and a Christmas tree. In the spare bedroom down the hall that she had turned into a study, she had hung Severus Snape's portrait opposite her desk. She had offered to put a television in there with the news turned on to alleviate his boredom but he'd been horrified.

"That would liquefy whatever brains I've managed to infuse into this painting; please don't," he'd told her.

"Harry, Ron! Please, come in; make yourselves at home," Hermione greeted her friends. She was wearing her mother's apron and had even worn a Christmas dress and heels like she'd seen her mother do every Christmas dinner. Although it was the week before Christmas, and it was just her friends, Hermione wanted to keep the little traditions alive.

"Hermione," Harry said, hugging her tightly. Ron squeezed her and then kissed her cheek almost kissing the corner of her mouth.

"Feel like I never get to see you, Hermione, you're always working," he said, smiling at her.

"Says the Aurors on active duty."

"Just trainees, don't get the full uniform or title until the three years are up. I had no idea it wasn't just Defence stuff when we signed up. I just wanted to catch dark wizards, but it's like intense classes."

"What classes did you pick this term? I know you did Basic Defense and Endurance Training this time last year, and Curse and Ward Breaking in the spring."

"I picked the course on Law," Harry offered as he shucked his coat and held out his hand for Ron's.

"Dangerous Creatures," Ron murmured.

"I thought you hated Hagrid's classes?" Hermione teased as she took their coats from them and hung them on the hook by the door. She gestured for them to sit and she walked into the kitchen to bring out glasses of white wine and a tray of hors-d'oeuvres.

"I did. I really didn't like the Blast-ended Skrewts, but those Skrewts were hybrid things. He was breeding dangerous creatures, this is how to deal with normal ones."

"And what counts as normal dangerous creatures?"

"Eh," Ron stalled, his face flushing a bit.

"It's best if you don't know, Hermione. It'll just make you angry," Harry tried for peace. It didn't work, of course, but he had to have known it wouldn't.

"Werewolves? Centaurs? Vampires?"

"Yeah, plus the smaller things like Grindylows and Hinkypunks. It's basically an in-depth look at Remus's classes third year."

"I hate how they classify werewolves and vampires as dark creatures," she muttered, frowning into her wine glass.

Harry sipped his own after taking a bite of food. "I know, but there's not much to do about it unless you go into law yourself. Just petitioning and protesting won't get an Act passed or anything. They've got a whole process that has to be done before an Act can be passed. I had no idea about all the laws that were still on the books. Some of them are outrageous."

Hermione thought about Rabastan's study and all the laws books he had. She assumed he didn't have anything newer than the eighties since it was his father's study.

"So what department do I need to be in to start working on revising those laws and passing Acts?"

Harry shared a sidelong glance at Ron, allowing a half grin to form on his face. "Tired of the Dark Artefacts Agency already?"

"It's slow. It feels like it's only a part-time sort of position. Actually, except for the containment spells, it could really be handled by a single person."

"Still not a fan of your partner?"

"Patricia Smythwick is a complicated, odd person. We're not friends, certainly, and she had so odd reactions to certain clients, but she's not an enemy or anything. But yes, although interesting, I don't think I'm long for the Agency."

"Ah, come now. Here I thought you liked being called Agent Granger," Ron teased.

"I do. But I don't feel like I'm making a difference down there in the bowels of the Ministry. I'm tired of the dark cave they call our office. I want an office with a window and some sunshine!" she said, laughing.

A timer went off in the kitchen.

"Oh, that will be the turkey. Let me go finish up. You two, make yourselves at home, of course, and I'll call you into the dining room when it's ready," Hermione told them.

She went into the kitchen and finished up. She pulled the dish with the turkey from the oven and set it on the cooker top. As she sliced the turkey and put it in a serving dish, she heard Ron call out. "Where's the loo, again?"

"Down the hall, Ron," she called back.

She had just set the carving knife down when his shout rang out. "What the bloody hell is that doing here!"

"Shit," she murmured. She set the serving dish on the counter and followed the voices of three men, two of which were shouting, down the hall and into her study.

"I thought we had a deal, Hermione, that no one would know I had a charmed portrait!" Severus's voice rang out. Though deeper than both her friends he had the added benefit of knowing just what tone to take to silence a class. Using it now sliced through Ron and Harry's outrage.

"I had not realised that when Ron saw books he would think it was my water closet," she answered the portrait. "Ron, the loo's across the hall."

"Yeah, but why do you have the greasy g—"

"Professor Snape," Harry corrected. "You know he was on our side, Ron."

Hermione sighed. "Ron, if you're still in need of it, go to the loo. Harry, we'll talk over dinner if you'd please come with me to finish getting everything on the table."

"But Hermione! We went looking—"

"Now, Harry. Ron," she growled at the boys. They both looked slightly cowed, but she had no doubts they would be back to shouting before the night was through. When both boys had left the room, she turned to the portrait. "I apologise, Severus, I had no intentions of them, or anyone, finding out."

He still looked perturbed.

Hermione took a deep calming breath and released it before leaving the room and pulling the door shut behind her. She went back to the kitchen to find Harry transferring the gravy she'd cooked into the serving tureen she'd set out for it. She'd forgotten he knew his way around a kitchen. "Thanks, Harry," she said quietly.

He half grinned at her before picking up the serving dish of turkey and carrying both it and the tureen of gravy to the table. She followed with two more sides she had put under a warming stasis charm meant for food. They stood at the table until Ron walked into the room and then settled themselves down. She had expected more yelling from Ron or maybe even some from Harry but both didn't say a word until they had all served themselves from Hermione's modest dinner.

Ron's voice sounded almost ashamed when he muttered, "You've got better at this."

Hermione laughed. Ron glanced up at her and cracked a grin and all seemed better. "Well, it helps that I have an actual kitchen and a variety of spices. I could always follow a recipe. These were recipes my mum used and they were her mum's too."

"It's good," Harry said between bites.

Hermione smiled, "I'm glad you liked it. I suppose, now that I've been complimented by both of you, I should explain why I have a portrait of our dead professor in my study."

The two boys shared a look.

"Oh, come on, did you really think that byplay would work on me? What are they teaching you in Auror training?"

"Well, you're right, that was one of the tactics we've learned," Harry admitted, ducking his head a little. "But I suppose we didn't pick the best scenario to try."

"Yeah, know your enemy, sort of thing."

"I'm not an enemy."

"Of course you're not!" Harry sounded a little peeved at Ron's statement. "All he meant, I think, is that we're supposed to identify the best way to question a suspect or witness and then play on each other's comments."

"So I'm a guinea pig?"

"Sorry, Hermione," Ron said through a bite of food. "They've been training us on that sort of stuff since day one until it's ingrained. I really wasn't planning any questioning tactics, I was genuinely complimenting your cooking."

She smiled and rolled her eyes at him. "I suppose you're forgiven," she set her fork down and wiped her mouth with her napkin before speaking again, "I found Severus's portrait when Smythwick and I were on location for a client. He sounded desperate for company and refused to be taken to Hogwarts."

"Severus, hmm?" Harry teased.

"Part of not wanting to be at Hogwarts, I suspect. He would be grumpy for days after I would accidentally call him 'professor' or 'sir.'"

"He looks really young," Harry said. It wasn't quite a question, but she knew he was curious.

"Yeah, and rich. Like Lucius Malfoy rich," Ron grumbled.

"I don't think anyone in Britain is quite Malfoy rich, except Malfoy. I know Severus had his portrait painted at a friend's request—he won't say who the friend was—and the robes were a gift. He was twenty-five at the time."

"Harry's probably as rich as Malfoy," Ron pointed out, taking in the information about Snape's portrait but not commenting on it.

"Not even the combination of Harry's family vault and everything Sirius left him would compare to the amount of wealth in Malfoy's vault."

"How do you even know what's in the ferret's vault?" Ron asked.

"I've been in it. Before... Before we went to Australia. He's got a chest of uncut diamonds in there and who knows what else. The amount of galleons alone was obscene."

Ron grunted and bit harshly into a roll.

Hermione frowned. She probably shouldn't have said anything. She knew that Ron still felt frustrated with his family's poverty even though they'd received a small stipend for each Order of Merlin that had been awarded. They weren't nearly as poor as they had been but they were they rolling in the gold now either.

"So, instead of alerting anyone that you'd found an active portrait of Snape, you just stole him from where you found him?"

"Not quite. The instructions from the client said don't touch or take anything without permission, but he'd never actually been to the place and didn't know Severus's portrait was there. Severus gave his permission to be moved. Well, he practically demanded it, but after over a year of staring at the same grungy walls with no company, it's no wonder he was bored."

"Does your partner know you not-technically stole something from a client?"

"No. Severus suggested putting an extension charm on a sock from his wardrobe and hiding him like I hid Headmaster Black. Actually, he thought I'd still have the bag with me and suggested that first."

After her questioning, both boys promised not to tell anyone about Severus's portrait. Harry asked if maybe later he could come alone to ask the portrait some questions. Hermione didn't know what to say to that but for covering for her regarding the theft of the portrait in question she agreed to his request. The rest of the evening passed in much less strained company and after she finally bid them goodbye after coffee and dessert, she was exhausted.

Unlike all of her cooking, Hermione used magic to put away all of the leftovers and wash the dishes. She dressed for bed and headed to her study to have a quick conversation with Severus and to tell him goodnight.


	17. Chapter 17

**Saturday, 15 January 2000**

The holidays passed in a blur of red hair and fuzzy jumpers. Fleur even asked if Hermione was comfortable with seeing the baby, who wasn't so little now, before she and Bill came inside the Burrow. Hermione had gone out to see them in the garden and reassured them both that seeing little Victoire was okay and that it had just been a long day last July.

Before Hermione had realised it, January was half gone and she was still puttering around in her boring job in the Department of Mysteries. She'd only been there for four and a half months and was already beginning to contemplate resigning. She had no idea what to do next or where to get more knowledgeable about Wizarding law except heading to the library and just reading case by case.

She couldn't very well ask anyone already in the Ministry without tipping off her hand that she was thinking about getting another job.

So after lunch, Hermione padded into her study in her pyjamas and slippers and sat down with a teacup to face the portrait of Severus Snape.

They'd spoken often, at least once a day when Hermione would tell him goodnight, but this would be the first time she'd actively sought any knowledge the portrait of the older man might possess.

"Don't you ever get dressed?" he greeted her with a frown.

"It's Saturday and I'm not expecting company; I can be lazy once in a while."

"I think I only ever see you wearing your nightclothes. Glad to know I'm not company."

"You're not. You live here."

"I should have had more than one portrait painted, so I could go other places. Your study gets boring."

"I might be able to devise some voice-activated spells that would allow you to access the books and turn the pages so you can read."

He tilted his head to the side. "Do you really think oil and canvas eyes can read, Hermione?" he said softly.

She felt her face flush as she realised her faux pas. "I'm sorry, I didn't mean to... Remind you that..."

"I know I'm dead. There is no reminding to it. It is a fact that doesn't escape my mind every moment of every day. I can sleep but I never eat. I have no corporeal self. I can no longer read. I can interact a little with the scene around me but not manipulate it. The captured image of my soul can still learn but only by interacting with others, listening and speaking. About the only thing left of my previous life is my image on this canvas and my voice. I'm distinctly aware of my lack of magic and simply my lack of self."

"I could find charms to read the books to you. Would that help?"

He blinked down at her. "Yes, I think it might." He glanced around the room, his eyes landing on the pulled curtains along the outside wall. "It's not time for bed, so I presume you actually want to converse instead of exchange pleasantries?"

"I'm not a fan of my job."

His boisterous laughter startled her it was so unexpected. Finally, after controlling his guffaws down to the slightest dark chuckle, he said, "And what do you expect me to do about it? I hated mine too."

"Well, I've told you what I do, and I think I've mentioned how slow it is," Hermione said. It was true that even in their short evening chats before bed, Hermione had shared a lot of information with Severus and he'd surprisingly shared a bit about himself as well.

"Yes and your co-worker is a bitch."

Hermione blushed scarlet, "Severus!"

He chuckled again. "Well, if you don't tell me anything positive about the woman what other conclusion am I to come to?"

Hermione tilted her head and nodded at that. "Yes, I suppose so. Though, I'd have to find something complimentary about her to do so, wouldn't I? Hmm," she pretended to think, "She does her job well. Most of the time. When she doesn't try to obscure Dark Magic instead of cleansing like she ought."

"So she does her job well when it suits her. Still sounds like a bitch." He didn't pause as he changed subjects, "What do you want to do?"

"I want to make a difference."

"To whom? House-elves? Werewolves? Centaurs? Imprisoned Death Eaters?" he said it as a jab but Hermione still felt the blood run out of her face and her stomach flipped at the thought of Death Eaters. She'd tried so hard to push Lestrange, and even Malfoy, out of her mind. Even going so far as to mentally scold herself if she even thought of them by their first names.

Severus, unfortunately, took the look as fear. He was still a nasty git sometimes and when he saw weakness he let his words cut and dice as well as his potions knife had ever done. "Don't like Death Eaters, hmm? It's been how long now? A year and a half? And you're still quaking in your slippers? I thought Gryffindors were supposed to be brave."

"Stop, stop! You don't know and you won't unless I tell you and when you decide to hurt me like that it doesn't put me in the mood to help you. If you don't shut up, I'll cover you with a sheet and leave you alone for months with a silencing charm around you!"

His mouth snapped closed immediately and the sneer and glint in his eyes faded. "You wouldn't," he said quietly. "You're a Gryffindor, you wouldn't leave me to go mad like that."

"Then don't... Don't..." She sniffed, unsure of what to admonish him with. He didn't know. She'd never told him.

So she did.

He listened patiently when she talked about the falling wall and the life debt. When she talked about how filthy Lestrange had been at that first meeting. He didn't say a word when she even talked about the sex and how it made her feel. She talked about the confusion at his trial and how he got off on the trumped-up charges. Everything about living with Lestrange and then the three weeks living with Malfoy. His eyes widened when she mentioned Malfoy's sneaky way of allowing him to ask for the betrothal and then his marriage proposal. She told him everything.

By the end, when the inevitable tears came, because they always came when she talked or thought about Ylva, he had a sad look on his face and he'd leant as far forward as he could in his frame, as though he were trying to reach out and touch her.

"Ylva is a beautiful name, and I'm sure Bass appreciated the sentiment behind your choice," he said. "I'm sorry for your loss, Hermione. I apologise for my harsh words earlier."

The way he referenced Lestrange reminded her that he would have known him as a fellow Death Eater.

"Was he a particularly violent Death Eater?" she asked.

He quirked a brow. "I knew him before that. He was a year below me at Hogwarts. He and Regulus Black were best friends."

"Oh."

He smirked, "Indeed," the unstated jab at her eloquence was written in the smirk and comment. "No. Bass was never violent. And the few times I ever saw him lose his temper was because he was emotionally hurt. He wasn't a very good Slytherin in that regard. Could never quite obtain that disinterested disdain that we all went for. He was intelligent; best in his year, I believe. It was his father and his elder brother's influence that made him take the path he did."

"And as a Death Eater?"

"He has a few Unforgivables on his wand, I'm sure. But most often he did cleanups. Obliviates, theft."

"He mentioned that killing was easy once."

Severus's eyes narrowed and he looked away from her, looking across the room at the window. "It is. Surprisingly so. I had all of this anger and hatred and blinding pain in my heart before I cast the spell, not even knowing in that moment if it was enough. I was almost as shocked as Potter no doubt was when that green light came from my wand. It wasn't until after the adrenaline wore off that I could feel the difference in my soul."

He was silent for a long time before he spoke again. "You are doing good work at the Dark Artefacts Agency, you realise. Dark magic being cleansed and dispelled is some of the best things that can be done. But it's not helping _people_ , it's not making a difference in other people's lives right now, and that's what you're looking for. The answer is simple after that. Go into law."

He returned his gaze to her. "You know two people, maybe three if you met Randolph Lestrange's portrait, that you can apprentice yourself to in order to become a barrister."

She looked at him with confusion. "Three? I did meet Randolph's portrait but he died at least fifteen years ago, there's bound to be things he doesn't know. Léon Maurier, his former partner... I wouldn't even know how to contact the man. I thought he was French, actually. Who's the third?"

He smirked again, a Slytherin type of smile if she'd ever seen one, and all he spoke was one name. "Bass."

 *** . * . ***

 **Wednesday, 1 March 2000**

Hermione spent the next month and a half looking into advocacy apprenticeships and what all they detailed. Then she started making the smallest inquiries about Léon Maurier as well as other barristers. It surprised Hermione to learn that although Maurier had a French name and accent, he was actually a British citizen and lived in London. She also learned that there were only a handful of barristers and solicitors in the Wizarding World. Six in total on the most recent list she found except for the list was from 1980 and both Randolph and his son were listed.

In the whirlwind of her personal research time seemed to slip by unnoticed. Severus never brought up that he still only ever saw her in her nightclothes nor that she still complained about her job. She'd found a spell that would read pages of a book aloud with voice commands and he'd started in on her library with relish. He could verbally call the title of a book, it would move to her desk and then he could say the spell that would start reading to him.

Soon it was Ron's twentieth birthday and Hermione was attending a small party for him with friends at the Leaky Cauldron. He'd have a larger celebration with his family on the weekend. There were lots of Aurors and trainees in attendance as well as familiar faces from Hogwarts. Hermione spent a pleasant evening chatting with Parvati and Dean at one end of the table while Ron held court in the middle.

It wasn't until most of his guests were leaving that he excused himself from the stragglers and came over to Hermione. "Want to go for a walk with me?" He asked.

She agreed and instead of taking her through the courtyard to Diagon Alley they slipped through the front entrance into Muggle London. It was late for a weeknight and the street was relatively empty. They walked for several minutes in silence before he stopped and turned to look at her. He glanced around, nervously, as if to assess the location but when he just shrugged she assumed he didn't find anything out of the ordinary.

"So," he started before clearing his throat. "Well, I wanted to ask you something for a while now, but I wasn't ever sure when the right time might have been. But now... Now, I think I'll just go for it." It was obvious that the alcohol he'd been drinking all night was acting as Dutch courage, even in the fact that Ron was a Weasley and a Gryffindor and neither lacked courage. Or had any subtlety. Hermione wasn't even sure what he might be working up to ask.

"Hermione," he paused and grabbed her hand. She had the worst feeling of dread in the world. Was he proposing or something equally inane? "Will you go out with me?" he said in one quick breath.

Hermione breathed a sigh of relief. Dating, she should be able to handle. Marriage? Not ready for that. Still not ready for that. "Yes, Ron, I'll go out with you."

"Want to go out to dinner on Friday?" He grinned widely.

She tried not to giggle at his enthusiasm. It seemed once he got past the initial question, he wasn't as nervous. "Yes, this Friday night is fine." To herself, she thought that it was a little quick notice but she knew she had nothing planned. His family's celebration was on Saturday afternoon at the Burrow, so dinner on Friday night was fine.

"Where are we going?"

"Er..." he shrugged and squeezed her hand. "Where do you want to go?"

She half smiled to herself at his lack of planning. "If you would like, we could go for something a bit classy? I'm worried that if we go casual, it will feel more like 'just friends' out to dinner rather than a date."

"Oh, good idea, nice restaurant it is. Do you have any suggestions?"

She gave him the name of a fine dining restaurant in London as they turned and headed back towards the Leaky Cauldron.

He nodded and their conversation ventured to other things. He continued to hold her hand.

 *** . * . ***

 **Friday, 3 March 2000**

Hermione found she was nervous at the end of the workday on Friday. She hadn't truly gone on a date before unless one counted the Yule Ball in fourth-year. She came home and took a quick shower and used the depilatory cream she'd purchased from the apothecary. She styled her hair, using a good-sized dollop of Sleekeazy's Hair Potion but not too much. It tamed her curls and allowed her to style her hair how she wanted. Then it was time to find the right outfit for a date.

She passed over outfit, after outfit, still not finding exactly what she was looking for. After looking through her closet three times she decided to venture into her mother's closet. Hermione hadn't been able to clean out all of her parent's things, especially her mum's clothes. They were similar in build and body shape and she'd always thought her mother had good taste.

Sure enough, she found a little black dress that was exactly what she was looking for and paired it with her kitten heels. No need to trip and fall on her face.

She walked into her study, wanting to let Severus know where she was going to be.

He looked her over with scrutinizing eyes like she was a particularly tricky potion before he blinked and nodded. Apparently, her outfit was passable. "Date night?" He asked casually.

She smiled and nodded. "Ron asked me out."

"Mr Weasley?" he said saying it like he was trying not to sneer. It seems he wasn't a fan of the youngest Weasley.

Hermione went to say something but decided against it. She didn't feel like arguing tonight. "Just wanted to let you know that we're going out to eat in Muggle London."

"I'm not your parent. You don't have to tell me your plans."

"No, but, especially with you looking twenty-five, you feel like an older brother perhaps, or a very clean roommate. Plus, if I get robbed or wind up dead, you'll at least be able to tell the Aurors what you know."

"Do you expect Mr Weasley to harm you?"

Hermione laughed. "Gosh no! I meant if a crazy person decided I was an easy target or something. I don't know. Just wanted to tell you."

He smiled at her laughter. "Have fun," he told her.

Ron picked her up at her house, and she explained the Tube and they rode it to the restaurant she'd picked. He'd not made reservations, but the wait wasn't long.

"You look nice tonight, Hermione," he told her as they took their seats.

She smiled. "Thank you."

They each picked an item on the menu and when Ron asked for a pint to go along with his meal, the server asked for his ID. Ron swallowed and grinned widely, then reached into his trousers pocket where he would have a wallet. He patted it in an exaggerated move and then patted the other side. "Oh, nevermind. Seems I left my wallet at home. I'll have a fizzy drink instead."

The server didn't believe him for an instant but agreed that she'd get him the fizzy drink.

"Why didn't she believe me?" he asked Hermione as soon as the server was gone.

"About your age? Or that you didn't have your wallet?"

"Both. I'm of age. Merlin, I'm twenty!" He said with a little laugh.

"I suppose you still look younger. And the wallet thing you said with a smile on your face without a sense of panic at all. If you'd really not had your wallet, you would have panicked at least a little bit. You did bring money, Muggle money, right Ron?"

"Yeah. I even have my Auror training badge, my ID to get into the Ministry. I just didn't think they'd accept that sort of thing."

"You're right, she probably wouldn't have. Don't worry, we can have a good time without any alcohol."

"I know. I'm just so used to ordering a pint when Harry, Neville and I go out on Tuesdays," he answered, shrugging.

They chatted easily over dinner. Hermione was glad because she had been worried that they'd lose what made them friends by trying to be lovers. She was thankful that didn't seem like it would happen.

After dinner, they walked several blocks in a random direction, just spending time together. He held her hand and it made Hermione smile. They walked by a gated park and Ron tugged on her hand as he walked towards it.

"Ron, it's going to be locked this late," she warned him.

"So?" he asked, casually flicking his wand at the gate that clicked at his silent charm. He slid his wand back into his pocket and pulled her through the gate.

"I'll lock it back if you want," he offered when he saw her slight frown.

"If you cast the Locking Spell the Muggles won't be able to unlock it with the key," she scolded him lightly.

"Oh, right. I knew that. They'll just think they forgot to lock it tonight, that's all," he grinned and pulled her close to him.

She wasn't expecting it when he leaned down and kissed her. His lips were slightly chapped and dry but soft. He wasn't tentative, either. He knew he wanted to kiss her and so he did. Hermione was taken back by his intensity at first but then relaxed. This was Ron. He was her friend. Intense could be good.

Her mind seemed to rush ahead, thinking of all the details of his kiss and trying not to think about any other kisses she'd had but when he reached up to touch her breast her thoughts scattered. She embraced the feeling of his touch, moaning in the back of her throat because he was still occupying her mouth.

She felt him step into her and she stepped back, not because she wasn't interested, but because she felt like she was overbalancing and she didn't want to fall over. He took her step back as reluctance.

"Sorry, too fast, I know," he said after pulling away from her. His hand slid from her breast to her back and he pulled her into his arms for a hug. He kissed her forehead. He gazed down into her eyes, his blue eyes looking darker than normal even in the dimness of the park. "Do you want to ride the underground train again? Or would you like me to Apparate you home?"

"I can Apparate myself," she said, thinking about how Side-Along always made her nauseous and she didn't want to see her dinner again. When his face fell at her words she rushed to reassure him. "I can Apparate myself but if you'd like to Apparate to my door you can come in for that drink you were wanting earlier," she offered with a smile.

"Okay," he said, letting go of her.

She Apparated first and a moment later the crack of his Apparition sounded his arrival. "I didn't think you'd have beer at home," he murmured, rubbing the back of his neck.

"I've got wine and brandy and I might have found my father's supply of scotch," she answered and she unlocked the door and opened it to enter.

"Hmm," he said, following her inside. "Brandy sounds fine."

She went into the kitchen and poured them both a little brandy before returning to the living room where he'd sat on the sofa. She handed him the glass and they sat quietly enjoying the flavour. He set his glass down once it was empty and leaned forward to take hers. After her glass was on the low table he leaned in and kissed her again. Slow and intense. His hands didn't stray this time, didn't come up to caress her in any way. He just leaned over her and snogged her thoroughly. When he pulled back Hermione whimpered. His grin made her feel tingly and ready between her thighs.

"I need to go," he whispered, kissing her once more, gently this time.

She was confused. They'd had a good time, she'd invited him back to her place, he kissed her like there was no tomorrow, and nothing?

"I'll see you tomorrow at the Burrow, yeah?" He asked once he'd stood from her sofa.

She forced a smile before nodding. "Of course, Ron." He grinned again and then saw himself out.

She frowned, picked up her glass of brandy and marched to her study.

"Date not go well?" Severus's voice said as soon as she'd turned the light on.

"I'm confused," she said.

"Stating the obvious." He rolled his eyes and sighed dramatically. "Why do you think I can help clarify things for you?"

"Because you're male. Maybe I didn't..."

"Start from the beginning," he told her.

So she settled down on the chaise and kicked off her heels. "Dinner went really well. There wasn't any awkward silences or anything. He only brought up Quidditch twice." She paused thinking Severus would have some commentary and when he didn't she glanced up at him. He just stared down at her, waiting. "Right, and then we went walking. He broke into a gated park and we snogged. He asked if I wanted to ride the Tube home or if I'd like him to Apparate us. I told him I could do it myself, because I get nauseous, but he seemed to get upset so I clarified that we could Apparate ourselves and asked if he'd like to come inside and have a drink."

"We snogged again on the sofa but then he just left. I thought I gave enough signs," she huffed, "What did I do wrong?" she asked, looking back over at the portrait.

"Were you really ready to have sex on a first date?" he asked.

"Well... yes," she said as if he were stupid for asking. His silence unnerved her. "Was I not supposed to be willing to have sex on a first date? It's not like I'm a virgin and I've been stressed at work. I would have liked to have got off."

He snorted in amusement. "And you think he would have got you off?"

She frowned again as the image of green eyes looking up from between her legs rushed into her head. "Well, I was hoping he would."

"And your only experience was—"

"Six separate encounters with Rabastan Lestrange; only once did he not get me off and I think that time was my fault."

"Your fault? What—You know what? I don't think I need to know."

"It was the only time he tried to kiss me, or," she blushed, "you know, put his mouth on me. It was the only time he undressed."

Severus frowned, seeming perturbed that he was being told even when he didn't want to know. This time her silent thinking led him to break first. "Tried to kiss you?"

"I stopped him. Stopped him from both kissing me and from going down on me. Looking back, I bet I might have liked it."

"At what point did he undress?"

She stared at the ceiling, hoping that the heat she felt creeping up her face wasn't obvious to the man in the portrait. "After I said no to the kissing and before I stopped him from..."

"Hmm. Do you know what went wrong with that encounter now?"

She lay there in silence for a time while she thought. At first, she didn't want to think about Rabastan Lestrange, but she was already hot and bothered and didn't think thinking about her only sexual history would be too much of a problem. She swallowed. "I... He tried to be vulnerable with me. He wanted me face-to-face with him. Tried to kiss me. Undressed. Tried to go down on me. He was baring himself, so to speak. Merlin, I bollocks that right up, didn't I?" She glanced back up at him.

"Yes, I suppose you did." He paused and Hermione thought she could see the image of him swallow. "Have you got off since your time with him?"

"Umm, no?"

"And why not?"

"Because I haven't... It's not like I could just pick some guy up at a pub, Severus." This time she was sure he saw the blush on her cheeks.

"You've never attempted to get yourself off?" he asked, his voice softer, almost husky.

"No."

"Why not? It's your body, shouldn't you know how to bring yourself to climax? So the next time you have sex with a partner you'll be able to show him exactly what you need?"

"I never thought of it like that," she murmured. Her hand reached up to touch her breast, teasing a nipple through her dress.

"Please, please don't do it in front of me, Hermione."

"What? Why not? You could, you know, tell me what to try, what to do?"

"I think the alcohol has gone to your head," he muttered. "I'm a portrait as such I don't have a body but I still have the phantom feelings of one. I know what the texture of lace is like under my fingers, the feel of soft skin. Please don't tease me like that when there's nothing that can be done to ease _my_ ache."

"Oh."

"And I know I've got you into thinking of me as someone other than your professor, but you commented earlier in the evening that I was like an older brother. Diddling yourself in front of me is not little sister behaviour."

"I'm sure it is in some families. Probably purebloods," she said, squeezing both breasts with a hand on each.

He groaned. "Go. Just leave me alone. I regret this entire conversation. Go diddle yourself in your bedroom and don't come back to tell me about it or I might have to ask you to help me commit portracide."

"That's not funny, Severus," she said, but she did get up and go to her bedroom to explore her own responses, realising the wisdom in his advice to knowing her own body.


	18. Chapter 18

**Saturday, 18 March 2000**

Hermione spent the day after her first date with Ron at his birthday bash at the Burrow. They didn't get to talk privately all that much, but he didn't avoid her like she was expecting. For some reason, she still felt like since he didn't tumble into bed with her that their date had gone wrong somehow. When she did get a moment to ask if everything was okay between them, all she got in reaction was his ears turning pink and him ducking his head to hide his blush.

She decided to give it time.

So she waited an entire week.

She felt like that was long enough, so after she got off work on Monday evening, she went up to Level Two to catch him after work. He looked exhausted and bleary-eyed like he'd been asleep when he, Harry, and Neville stumbled past the doors she was waiting near laughing.

"Ron," she called and they all stopped their laughter.

"Hey, Hermione," he greeted. He turned back to Harry and Neville, "I'll see you tomorrow, Neville, and I'll see you at home Harry, grab a pizza on the way home, will you?"

"Sure thing," Harry agreed. "Hermione," he smiled tiredly at her and reached out to tap her on the shoulder before he and Neville turned and walked down the hall towards the lifts.

"Is anything wrong?" Ron asked, fidgeting.

"No, no," she assured him, smiling. The slight awkwardness that she thought they wouldn't have seemed to have crept in and caught them unawares. "I was just wondering if you'd like to go out again, this coming Saturday. We could go to the cinema."

When he tried to hide his ignorance of the Muggle concept by stammering and shifting his weight she amended her statement. "Or I could cook and introduce you to the telly first, I'm sure I could let a film and we could watch it at home."

"Yeah, okay," he nodded.

"Good," she smiled. She rose up on her tiptoes to try and kiss him but he didn't lean down to help her so she ended up kissing his chin. He grinned and kissed her properly.

It was now Saturday and Hermione was stressing, just a little. She'd followed a new recipe she'd found in her grandmother's recipe box in the attic and it sounded delicious. It wasn't shaping up as delicious as she had expected. After she'd put the unappetizing meal under a stasis charm, she'd gone to get dressed, stressed again when she still didn't know what to wear. She settled for one of her school skirts and a lightweight, low cut jumper. She went to ask Severus if she looked all right and what to do about the lacklustre dinner but she found him staring out at the room and unmoving. Before she could ask what was wrong Ron knocked on the door. With a second glance at Severus, she walked up the hall to greet Ron. She answered the door and reached up to kiss Ron hello. He responded sweetly and then she ushered him into the house.

"So, I have a confession to make," she started and he looked slightly worried. "No, it's nothing too horrible. It's just that dinner... Didn't turn out. I mean, I don't like it. I suppose you could try it, but I thought I could just order curry and be done with it."

"Oh, yeah. I mean, I'll try it, but if you don't like it..."

"I'm not intending for you to be a guinea pig, Ron, but you do like more of a variety than I do."

"Whatever. Lead the way," he said, shrugging. He followed her into the kitchen and waited as she plated up a small portion and offered it to him at the bar top next to the sink. He sat, sniffed the food, then put a forkful in his mouth. He did a good job at not spitting it back out but she could tell by the look on his face that he wasn't a fan.

"I'll order curry then," she reassured him. After she hung up the phone from ordering the takeaway she asked him if he could figure out the problem with the dish.

"Mushrooms. After being out in the forest so much, I hate them. The sauce tastes like mushrooms."

"They're store bought!" She argued but then left out a chuckle. "I didn't even think about it. I guess I never associated the mushrooms we ate on the run with store purchased Portabellas. So maybe the meal isn't so bad, it's just us."

"Maybe. I'd hate to throw it out, though. Got a neighbour to give it to?"

"Not any I really associate with. If you and I don't like it, then I doubt Harry will. Severus is a portrait and doesn't eat. And Ginny and the rest of your family..."

"Yeah, Mum was in the kitchen when I left. Ginny's in Wales for the weekend. Another Quidditch League scouting game."

"It's fine. I'll find something to do with it," she made a face. "So Ginny hasn't been picked up by any team yet? I thought she had already been drafted."

"We thought the Holyhead Harpies would pick her up, and the might still, but she wasn't thrilled at the offer they made her. It was downright bloody insulting is what it was," he said and then he talked Quidditch until the delivery person rang the doorbell.

They ate in the living room and Hermione put a film in. She'd picked something older, an action film, thinking he would like it more. Instead, he asked question after question about it while it was playing and then asked what the characters were talking about because he hadn't been paying attention when she'd tried to explain more of the Muggle-ish concepts to him.

All in all, the dinner and a film date didn't go as planned. Before eleven after they'd snogged on her sofa he excused himself and said goodnight. She diddled herself in the shower and changed for bed. Then spent an hour dissecting her date with Severus.

 *** . * . ***

 **Saturday, 8 April 2000**

Hermione had finally made a decision and contacted Léon Maurier, after the third straight week of no new Artefacts being delivered to the Agency. She and Smythwick still went in, though Smythwick was arriving later and later each day. Until Thursday when she didn't show up until noon and left an hour before six with only the slightest mention that she had a date to get ready for. Smythwick still got paid.

Hermione was bored. So on Friday, She made the eighth draft of her request for an apprenticeship to Maurier, after discussing the topic ad nauseam with Severus, and sent the owl from work.

She hadn't got a response yet. Though she wasn't too worried about it.

What she was worried about was her next date with Ron, which started in less than half an hour and she wasn't dressed yet. Instead, she had gone through her mother's wardrobe again and moved Severus's portrait into her bedroom. His protests went largely ignored.

"What sort of outfit do I wear that says, 'I'm ready to have sex'?" she asked him. She was standing in nothing but her knickers and bra, having tossed her dressing gown aside after setting his portrait against the headboard.

He had his hand covering his eyes. "Where are you going?"

"He picked the restaurant this time. Something in Hogsmeade, I think."

"There's not much in the way of restaurants in Hogsmeade," he said.

"I know. Three Broomsticks, the Hogshead, and Madam Puddifoot's. Unless something new has come up without me knowing about it. But that's fine. Now, help me with my clothes."

"Hermione," he released a long-suffering sigh. "You really need a close girl friend. This is ridiculous." He dropped his hand to scold her but instead took one long glance at her and covered his eyes again. "Wear black."

"But I wore black on our first date."

"Wear tall heels."

"I'll break my ankles."

"Don't wear your knickers and tell him about it over starters."

She didn't immediately have a response to that. "Really? That's the sort of thing that would get you in the mood?"

He groaned and let his hand fall again. "It's the anticipation of the thing. Though since he seems reluctant to go very far I think you would be coming on too strong."

"Maybe I can give him a blowjob."

"Hermione..." he practically whined, sounding more her age. "That's probably too strong for him as well."

"He doesn't do subtle, though. I've thrown out enough hints, shouldn't he have at least tried to put his hand up my skirt yet?"

"Maybe you should just tell him you're ready for sex. You're confident enough to tell me all about it."

"Yes," she said, pulling a short red dress from her mum's clothes. "But you're different."

"I was your professor."

"But you don't want me to think of you as professor, remember? Now, you're just Severus Snape: portrait of a rich, twenty-five-year-old man who helps me navigate my life."

"I was never rich and my mind... Essence, if you will, isn't twenty-five either. I'm almost forty. I was your professor. And you never seem to realise how strange this all is."

She pulled the dress on, realised her bra straps would be visible, and pulled her bra off. He groaned again. "Would you have liked to have this sort of relationship with Malfoy?"

"No, but I doubt that he would be asking fashion advice and how to get a guy in his knickers."

She grinned up at him. "You sure about that?"

He laughed. "He tried to get in yours, didn't he?"

"Yes," she answered softly. "So, what do you think?" She straightened the top and did a slow twirl. "Hair up or down?"

"Down. Well, partially up, with a curl framing your face. Are you meeting him in Hogsmeade or is he picking you up?"

"He's picking me up."

"Then maybe you should put my portrait back where it belongs, so if you do get him to your bedroom later, he doesn't start assuming the worse."

"What sort of things could he assume?"

"Hermione," he said again.

"Okay, okay. Putting you back in the study. Thank you, Severus." She gave him a bright smile when he was back in the study before hearing Ron's knock. "Wish me luck!" She whispered at Severus.

"Good luck you crazy woman," he muttered as she left.

 *** . * . ***

Hermione answered the door in her bare feet. "Hi!" she said cheerfully.

Ron smiled at her, kindness in his eyes. "Not ready yet?"

"Oh, just need a few finishing touches. Make yourself at home, of course," she told him and almost ran back to her bedroom for heels and a clutch. She did a once over in the mirror before walking out more calmly to Ron. He hadn't sat down.

"Everything okay?" she asked, slightly nervous.

"Yeah. So I think I said the restaurant's in Hogsmeade. I was confused, it's a new little place on Diagon. Close to High Street."

"Oh, I'd heard a new high-end place came up, is that it?"

"Yeah," he said, swallowing tightly.

Hermione could tell he was nervous, and she desperately hoped that it was because maybe he'd noticed that she was ready for sex and not that he was going to propose or give her betrothal jewellery. She wiped her palms on her skirt discretely, using the motion as an excuse to rub out an invisible wrinkle.

"You ready to go then?" he asked.

"Yes. Is there a particular shop to Apparate in front of, or should I just focus on the Leaky Cauldron's courtyard and we walk from there?"

"Oh, umm, the restaurant has its own Apparition room. When I made reservations they showed it to me so I could Apparate you there." He said, reaching out to grab her hand.

She smiled and motioned to the door. "Let me lock up then." She tried to keep the smile on her face genuine but she hated Side-Along Apparition and he knew that. She didn't really care that the restaurant had its own room for it she'd have rather walked. She wished she had gone to the apothecary for anti-nausea potions again.

After locking the door, she turned and reached out to him. He wrapped his arms around her in a hug and Apparated them safely to their destination. The room they were in was opulent and Hermione briefly worried that it was out of Ron's price range. She put it aside with the thought that he wouldn't pay outrageous prices for food, no matter the occasion.

They were seated by the host who greeted them in Italian. The table was tiny and in a dark alcove where they couldn't see or be seen by any other dining guests. The host suggested a bottle of wine but Ron passed him up on it. After he left, Ron fidgeted as he looked over the menu.

Hermione didn't know exactly what to say or do. She wanted to ask about how expensive this restaurant was and how he was paying for it but instead looked over the menu. There were no prices listed for anything and that made her nervous. She finally decided that a salad with chicken would probably be a safe lower-cost option than steak or salmon.

She closed her menu and watched Ron. He was still squirming in his seat every few moments and Hermione was reminded of when Fred and George pranked one of their dormmates with itching powder.

"Is everything all right?" she asked.

He stopped fidgeting and looked at her with a slightly dopey grin. "Yeah, everything's fine."

"Did George put itching powder in your clothes?"

"Huh, what? No, no. I'm... I'm good. Everything's good."

She nodded and when the waiter came back to take their order, Ron ordered the salad with steak. So perhaps he wasn't worried about the price of things. He still squirmed every so often but since she'd pointed it out he did it less.

Once the waiter had left, Hermione tried to drag him into conversation. He seemed to relax the more they talked and they continued even as the food came.

"Ginny finally got a better offer from the Harpies. Three-year contract to start, ten-thousand pounds for the season. She's replacing Blythe Horton as first starting Chaser."

"That's wonderful!"

"She got a nice starting bonus too," he muttered.

"Is she helping out with our dinner, then?" Hermione asked regretting the words as they came out of her mouth.

"What? What, uh, no. Maybe?" He spluttered. "Maybe a little. I wanted to take you some place really nice."

She was really worried that he was going to give her betrothal jewellery or propose with an engagement ring so she let her brain scramble to find something to say so he wouldn't. "I'm ready to start having sex," she blurted.

He froze for a moment and blinked at her. "Oh, umm. , that's... That... We can do that."

The rest of the meal was just as awkward as the start of it. Ron paid the check with a tap of his wand and escorted Hermione back to the Apparition room.

"Meet you at my place?" she said, hoping to sound enticing.

He nodded enthusiastically.

She was so excited her Disapparition cracked much louder than she anticipated. She was already starting to unlock the door when he Apparated behind her. Once inside, she kicked off her heels and offered him a glass of wine, which he accepted.

They sat in the quiet of her living room, and Hermione had to make herself slow down instead of just downing the whole glass of wine. Ron had finally stopped fidgeting but he was staring hard at the floor while she watched him. Was he not ready for sex? She'd assumed he wasn't a virgin but what if he was? She didn't even know if he'd dated anyone while she was away at Hogwarts.

After she finally drank the last swallow in her glass, she set it on the low table in front of her sofa. The clink it made sounded loud. He set his glass down as well when she reached out a hand. He took her hand and stood then followed her lead into the bedroom.

She crawled on the bed, tugging him with her, and then kissed him. She waited for his hands to wander to her breasts and was rewarded when they did after only a few moments. She was playful with her kiss, nibbling on his lower lip and then leaving open-mouthed kisses along his jaw. He repaid the favour and seemed to take control of their pace.

He snogged her thoroughly, caressing her breasts and sides all the while before finally—finally!—he slid his hand up her thigh. She had worn knickers despite Severus's advice but that didn't seem to stop Ron. He moved down and kissed her knees as he pulled her knickers from her and tossed them over his shoulder.

He moved back up her body, intent to remove her dress next and she let her hands reached up and unbutton his shirt. He'd worn nice, Muggle clothes instead of robes. As he unzipped her dress she started unbuckling his belt. He stopped her with a hand on her wrist before taking her dress the rest of the way off.

She was bare in front of him. She had the briefest memory surface regarding the other times she'd been naked in front of a man. She felt a thousand times more comfortable in her body now. It wasn't the most beautiful body now. She was softer than she'd been. Being pregnant had changed her physique even though it had only been fifteen weeks. She had the slightest belly and her breasts had never gone back down in size. She arched her back to show them off, hoping he saw her confidence.

"You're beautiful, Hermione," he whispered and then leaned forward to kiss and lick her nipples.

She closed her eyes as a little moan slipped from between her lips. She ran her fingers through his hair as encouragement as he played and laved her breasts. He spent a long time there, the entire thing enjoyable, but she wanted more. Needed more.

She shifted her hips, pressing up against him, grinding on his cloth-covered thigh. He shifted again and pillowed his head on her thigh for a moment. He didn't bring his mouth to her though, even when she bucked her hips at him.

He touched her very slowly and very gently. First, her clit and then along her labia, until he got to her opening. As he slid one finger into her, slower than anything else they'd done that evening, Hermione started to grow impatient. She bucked her hips and whined a little. Instead of taking it as the encouragement she'd intended, he backed off pulling away from her.

"I'm sorry, are you okay? I didn't hurt you did I?"

"Ron, are you a virgin?" She blurted.

He flushed pink, first his ears and then the colour crept up his chest and neck. "No."

"Then what's the problem? You're touching me like you think I'm so fragile I'll break."

"I just don't want to trigger a flashback or trauma."

"Trauma?" She looked up at him and the flush on his skin intensified. "Lestrange didn't rape me. I lost a baby," she said a bit too harshly. At least, she thought it was too harsh, but his hand moved to press against his cock, straining so hard in his trousers that she could see the outline of it. She smirked, thinking a little bit about what she was going to say. "Now get over me and show you how much you love me." It was a command, an order, but instead of baulking he groaned and his hands went to his zip to divest himself of his trousers and pants.

He moved quickly after that, sliding into her almost as soon as he was naked. The feeling of fullness that came over her wasn't new but it wasn't something she'd experienced in a while so her back arched and she moaned. He returned the sound and returned his mouth's attention to hers, kissing her deeply as he began to move.

She enjoyed herself immensely, loving the way Ron touched her and filled her even when he reached completion and she didn't. After he pulled away from her, her hands went down to her clit and she diddled herself to orgasm. The enraptured look on Ron's face as he watched her do it never left. When she lay there panting, he pulled her close. "I do love you," he murmured. "That's why I wanted to take you somewhere fancy. I wanted to tell you I love you."

"Oh, Ron!" Hermione said laughing breathily. "You didn't have to take me out to a fancy dinner to tell me that. Just this. This was wonderful."

"It was," he agreed. They were quiet for a moment and Hermione thought they might doze but Ron whispered in her ear. "Think you can show me how you liked to be touched? That was beyond hot." She grinned and grabbed his hand. Tonight was going to be a long night.


	19. Chapter 19

**AN:** Please stop complaining about Hermione dating Ron. Written clearly in the summary of this story is "some HG/RW" and the word "dating." Your complaints are not going to make me change or rewrite anything. This story is completely pre-written. The final pairing is Draco/Hermione/Rabastan; you just have to trust me as the author to get you there. **  
**

* * *

 **Monday, 1 May 2000**

It had taken three weeks before Hermione heard back from Léon Maurier. He owled her over the weekend and asked to meet her at a restaurant in Muggle London near the Ministry for lunch on Monday. She made sure to dress her smartest and look as professional as she could. Even Smythwick, when she ambled in an hour late, noticed.

"Got a date tonight?" She asked as she straightened her collar. Had she been snogging someone this early in the morning? Hermione just rolled her eyes.

With fifteen minutes before her lunch date, Hermione grabbed her little clutch purse and made her way up to the atrium. She walked the ten minutes to the restaurant and saw the older gentleman already at a table. He stood to greet her.

"Ms Granger," he said, clasping her hand in his. "It's a pleasure to meet you properly."

"Thank you," she said smiling, "I'm honoured you agreed to meet with me. I do apologise if I'm running a tad late..."

"Oh, you're not late. I'm early. Half an hour early, actually but that's only because I wanted to spend some time people watching. It's a good habit to have. Being observant. Never know when your mind will recall a then-insignificant detail that's crucial to a case." He gestured for her to sit, scooting her chair up behind her. "Your owl said you'd like to become an advocate, is that right? What made you decide to ask me? Surely you know two others with the right schooling for an apprenticeship." He paused but only to gesture to the waitress to bring their meal. He must have ordered for her. "Or did you not think Randolph or Rabastan would put you through your paces?"

"I'm no longer involved with Rabastan Lestrange, and I felt it would be awkward to ask either him or his father for the training. I've seen you in action, I feel like you have a lot you could teach me."

"Is that so?" He murmured, looking at her more intently. She took the moment to study him as well. His hair was thinning on top, and his face was long. His brown eyes seemed sunk into his skull and his cheeks were lined with age. He almost looked sick. She tried to remember how old Randolph was to make an estimate to Maurier's age. Tom Riddle was born in twenty-six and Lestrange was a Knight of Walpurgis, born around the same time. Perhaps Maurier was similar. A wizard in his seventies wouldn't look this aged, would he? Hermione wasn't sure.

The waitress brought the starters and left before he spoke again. "I suppose I could teach you, though it wouldn't be a standard three-year apprenticeship. I'm offering you an apprenticeship for two years since you want to work in advocacy rather than as a barrister. It's similar work, but doesn't require quite as much study of obscure laws."

"I'm interested in some of the obscure laws, though," she interjected. She'd started on the food then, and so did he. It was a delicious balsamic glazed bruschetta on warm French bread.

"You must have seen Randolph's collections then. Any particulars catch your eye?"

"Oh, I didn't get to study those books very long, the only one I had a chance to read contained the law regarding marriage without a formal courtship."

"Ah, 1524. I suppose that's why you do not carry Lestrange's name then? Found a way out of his attempts to ensnare you."

"Actually," she paused, her voice going soft, she supposed she needed to inform him of the history so he wouldn't assume she had abandoned a child, "there was an accident and I lost the baby." She said it quietly, staring at her plate.

"My condolences. The two of you didn't try again?"

She frowned as she looked up. "I'm afraid Lestrange must have glossed over the circumstances of our situation when he discussed me with you."

He raised a single eyebrow at her. "You owned him a life debt. He asked for a child. That you did not provide him one..."

"I acknowledged the life debt as 'life created.' Getting me pregnant absolved the debt and he verbally acknowledged it absolved in the hospital when I awoke."

"Ah. Then, no, of course, you wouldn't have tried for a second. Still, my condolences for the loss. My wife and I tried for a child several times over the years, so I'm familiar with that type of pain."

The waitress brought the main course, Alfredo pasta, and they ate quietly for several minutes. "My office is here in London and you'll be able to Floo or Apparate directly into the foyer. When can you start your apprenticeship?"

Hermione felt confounded for a moment. Was he not going to ask for her credentials, beyond what she'd written in her owl. But then his comments from earlier in the conversation came back to her. Observing people. It was likely that he'd done a discrete inquiry regarding her history, work ethic, and N.E.W.T.s scores before he even owled her back or made his decision. She liked the fact that he had been prepared to offer her the job before scheduling the meeting.

"I suppose I should give my two weeks' notice in at the Ministry before I fully accept your offer, sir."

He grinned and he looked almost boyish. "That's fine, take an extra week for yourself as well. I'm happy to be snatching one of the great talents of the generation away from the Ministry, especially Saul Croaker. He's probably had you pushing papers down there with no sunlight and sycophants for company."

Her lips twitched. Syncophant was an interesting thing to call Smythwick, who seemed more out-for-herself than groupie. "Something like that."

"You're not an Unspeakable, though, correct?"

"No, sir, Dark Artefacts Agent. My partner and I cleanse or dispell dark magic from artefacts. Though we haven't had any except one or two trinkets in six weeks. The free time for research is nice, but I would like some sunlight. I'm starting to feel like a vampire down there," she admitted.

"Thought as much. The DoM is one of my least favourite Departments, especially to work with. Croaker is an imbecile when it comes to management." They finished up the meal and Maurier paid. When Hermione stood, he did as well and shook her hand.

"Monday, the 22nd of May at eight. Floo address is 'Attorn du Maurier.' After arriving that way you'll be able to Apparate if you prefer. I look forward to seeing your brilliance in the field of law, Ms Granger," he smiled pleasantly and bid her a good day.

The walk back to the Ministry felt like she was walking on clouds she was so excited. Smythwick cutting out an hour early didn't even put a dent in her smile. Hermione wrote our her two weeks' notice and at six she went to Croaker's office to give it to him. He was startled when she knocked and looked flustered. There was a smudge of lipstick on his collar and the skin of his neck the same hot pink colour that Smythwick had put on before she left. She handed him the parchment and smiled sweetly, showing too many teeth. "That's my two weeks' notice, sir. I thank you for the opportunity to be a part of this new agency and I am grateful for the experience but I have my sights set a little higher up, so to speak. I have no trouble training a replacement should you find one within the next two weeks. Have a good evening, sir." She let her gaze slide from his down to his desk, assuming that's where Smythwick had hidden. Croaker didn't say a word as Hermione turned and walked out of his office.

She was so happy she went upstairs to the Auror department and asked Harry, Ron, and Neville to join her for a drink at the Leaky in celebration.

 *** . * . ***

 **Friday, 9 June 2000**

The shininess was bound to wear off her new job eventually. Hermione hadn't expected the amount of paperwork that came to her little desk in the corner of Attorn du Maurier offices. She spent two extra hours at her desk on her third Friday there before Maurier came out of his office.

"And what are you still doing here, young lady?" he asked in the playful way she'd grown used to. When he wasn't demanding justice or conducting a hiring interview, he was a spritely sort of gentleman that teased and joked and laughed often. He bought flowers for the office and the three women who worked there each week and gave each a small posey to put on their desks—with impervious charms—so none of the paperwork that came through would get damaged.

"I was trying to finish up this work so it would be ready on Monda—"

"I'm paying you to work eight hours, from eight to five Monday through Friday with an hour lunch. If I need you to work longer, I will let you know and pay you for it," his voice sounded stern but he didn't look angry.

"I just thought you needed this done as soon as possible," she argued.

"I appreciate your dedication to the job, Ms Granger," he said and then he grinned, "But it's Friday night. I don't pay you to work beyond your hours nor do I expect you to. So yes, as soon as possible, but within the time frame I've set. You're a brilliant girl, you're time is worth a lot. Don't do work you aren't getting paid for. And besides, it's Friday. Don't you have a date to get ready for?"

Hermione scrunched her eyebrows as she thought about her week. She was positive that she did not have a date. "No, sir, I don't. Are you sure you don't want me to finish this? It'll only take thirty more minutes."

"You're impossible, sometimes. Go home. You're already two hours past the end of your shift. I'll expect you to skip out of here early next week, or come in late, to balance it out. Got it?"

"Come in late or skip out early? But, sir!"

"Hermione."

She stopped short, realising that she was arguing with her boss and that probably wasn't the best thing to do.

"I'll pay you for the extra," he stopped to glance at his watch, "two hours today, but if you start staying beyond the end of your shift I will cut your hours in this office. I will drop an entire day from your schedule if I have to. I'm trying to teach you something here and you're not learning."

That seemed to be the phrase that kicked her brain into comprehending what he was really trying to explain to her. She should get paid for her time. The more work he did on a case, the more he required in fees. She frowned. "But the case...?"

"Will be just fine over the weekend. I realise you're only seeing a portion of the work but this is an estate case. A dead man can wait the weekend, his property will still be sealed in his vault."

"Oh."

"Right. Do you really not have a date tonight?"

"No, sir," she answered.

"Then come out to dinner with me. It's the least I can offer, along with the extra wages, of course, to make up for your boring Friday evening."

"Are you sure, sir? I mean, I don't want to impede on your plans," she asked, worrying her bottom lip between her teeth.

"I wouldn't have asked if I didn't mean it. Let's go to dinner." He picked up her cloak from the peg by the door and held it out to put over her shoulders. "And I'm not coming on to you or anything, I'm old enough to be your grandfather. It's just a business dinner." His grin didn't diminish as he closed up the office and tucked her arm around his. He walked her out of the building and then two blocks down to a small dine-in restaurant.

The hostess smiled at him, "Mr Maurier, it's a pleasure to see you this evening. Would you like your usual table?"

"Yes, please," he answered and walked behind the hostess. He leaned down to whisper at Hermione. "Since my wife passed nine years ago I always dine here on Friday nights. Sometimes, if I'm working an urgent case I'll ask Deborah or Susan to stay late and dine with me."

"Shouldn't I have Transfigured my clothes? I mean, a cloak is a bit odd for London." Hermione asked, worried as she looked around.

"Squib-run restaurant. They have a section that utilises wizardspace for magical folks so we don't stand out too much. Besides, robes really are coming along, at least for ladies. Nowadays, robes look like conservative dresses. As long as you don't wear the loose style that Hogwarts favours, which you don't."

The hostess showed them the table, then handed them menus. Maurier immediately ordered a wine and starter.

"Have Hogwarts school robes always looked the way they do?"

"Baggy and unisex, you mean?" At her nod he continued, "Certain things, like the hat style have changed. They used to be more like sleeping stocking caps in the forties but shifted to the conical shape in the sixties I think, but the robes have forever been baggy and unisex. I suppose it's to stop boys from noticing the changes girls' bodies go through during school. The less they see, the less distracted they'll be. Though I suppose it goes the same way for girls. I wouldn't know, I didn't go to Hogwarts."

"Where did you attend school then?"

"Beauxbatons, of course."

"Are you a French national?"

He laughed. "Oh, no. I'm originally from Kent. My father was French and my mother English. I remember them having a row that lasted two weeks the spring I turned eleven. Father won the argument and I went to the school he attended."

They ordered their main course when the starter arrived and talked more about inconsequential things, fashion, Beauxbatons and Hogwarts curricula, and tension between the French and British Ministries. Hermione had an enjoyable evening with him even when he decided to turn the conversation to a more personal and sombre note.

"There is something I need to ask, Ms Granger," he said, taking a sip of wine. "Do you see a Mind Healer regularly?"

Hermione felt slightly taken aback. Was he implying that she needed one? What did that say about the way she presented herself? She'd never even considered it. "Umm, no, sir," she stumbled over her answer.

"I can give you a recommendation to see Dr Grinstone, she's a squib and is a Muggle-certified social worker and counsellor. St Mungo's also has a Mind Healer or two on staff if you'd prefer that."

"I'm sorry, sir, but I'm confused. Are you saying I'm unstable or..." she dragged the last word out, unsure of what he was implying. "Am I not qualified to work in advocacy?"

He laughed, the sound just made the knot in Hermione's stomach tighten. He thought she was crazy. She wasn't crazy. "Oh, no sweet girl. I'm saying that working in advocacy you're going to need to see a Mind Healer on a regular basis. I was living in France for the last half-decade or so, but from what I've heard, you've been in the middle of a civil war, fighting on the front lines. It's no place for a young woman. And the unconventional relationship you had with a man on the opposing side of that war. You've experienced loss and I think you struggle with it."

"But why would advocacy require me to see a Mind Healer regularly?"

"You can't properly help others if you aren't properly helped yourself, Ms Granger. Sometimes I have to advocate for murders. To be the best barrister I can be for them, I have to have complete honesty with my clients. I require them to give me details of their crimes so that if the crime is brought up before the Wizengamot I won't be surprised and I'll know exactly the right angle to defend them."

He stopped and watched her as if he was waiting for her to interrupt. When she didn't he continued, "I had one client detail four gruesome murders that he was involved in and when I asked for details of his crimes, he did not spare any. I am not a violent person and I don't delight in foul deeds, though sometimes I have to advocate for someone who does. If I didn't see Dr Grinstone regularly, I would have nightmares that would disrupt my sleep, which would disrupt my efficiency at work, and my clients wouldn't be given the best barrister for their coin."

Hermione opened her mouth to say something, but all that seemed to want to come out was a simple, "Oh." She'd never thought of it like that. She'd never even realised there were Mind Healers or therapists in the Wizarding world. "I understand."

"I'm glad. I think a thorough understanding of oneself and self-care is the best way I can be the best barrister. Everything else can be learned if one is diligent enough."

And then he moved on to other topics including a wide range of newer Muggle films that even Hermione hadn't seen. He encouraged her to spend more of her free time enjoying life and spending time with people she cared about. At the end of the meal, he paid and offered her an arm to walk back to the office where she could Floo or Apparate home.

 *** . * . ***

 **Saturday, 5 August 2000**

As Hermione slowly learned the art of postponing work until the next day, time seemed to slip from her. Before she realised it, August was upon them and Harry and Ginny were having a joint birthday party. A weekend fell perfectly between their birthdays and since Harry and Ron both had Auror training and Ginny was Apparating out to Wales for training for Quidditch on the weekdays, it seemed perfectly reasonable that any party for either of them be held on the central weekend.

There was a large gathering at the Burrow, so large that Mr and Mrs Weasley set up a tent similar to the one they'd used for Bill and Fleur's wedding. The celebration lasted from midday until late into the night and George let off an inspiring fireworks display.

Hermione was content to sit near Ron and sip her bottle of Butterbeer, enjoying the atmosphere but not joining in the boisterous conversations all around. Someone had opened a bottle or two of firewhisky and the Aurors and Aurors in training had faced off with the professional Quidditch players there celebrating with Ginny to a drink off. So far, the Aurors were in the lead with more shots consumed with less obvious inebriation.

"Why aren't you joining in?" Ron asked, his words slurred enough that if Hermione didn't know him as well as she did she wouldn't have been able to understand him.

"It's Aurors versus athletes, Ron. I'm not either. Plus, I don't really want a hangover—"

"Maybe you could step in for me while I go to the loo," he said, patting her on the arm and handing her his full shot glass, which sloshed onto her jeans-clad thigh.

"Ron—" she tried to get him to come back but he'd already started stumbling back towards the house.

"What's wrong, Hermione?" Ginny asked grinning widely as she sat down next to her, overcompensating a little and elbowing her in the side. The shot glass sloshed again despite Hermione's hold on it. "It's just a shot or two. You can handle that much, right? It's your turn by the way."

Hermione glanced up at the grinning circle of mixed people. Six women from the Quidditch team, plus Ginny, sat opposite Harry, Neville, and four others that Hermione was sure at one point in the evening she had been introduced to. And Ron's empty chair. Somehow she'd ended up in the circle, sitting between the fourteen other people. She laughed and shook her head. "And who's team am I on, then?"

"You're standing in for Ron," Neville explained, then gestured for her to take her shot.

She rolled her eyes and tipped it back, swallowing quickly. The cinnamon burn coated the back of her tongue and throat making her cough and gag. She didn't know if it was just the alcohol or the fact that it was firewhisky, but her entire oesophagus felt like it was in flames and even her stomach seemed on fire. She coughed again and shook her head, handing off the empty shot glass to Harry.

There were cries, cheers, and chuckles all around the circle.

"No more, no thank you," she smiled. "If going to the loo is enough to kick Ron out, then maybe the girls should win it, but I'm not standing in for him. That was horrid."

"Ah, you're just not used to it girly," one of the older Aurors said, still chuckling at her.

"I'll stick with Butterbeer and wine. Firewhisky is painful."

Ron was spotted coming up behind her and more cheers from the other Aurors heralded his arrival. Except it seemed standing had been detrimental to his health. The alcohol had gone to his head and he tripped over his own feet before he got back to his chair. He climbed back into it with a dopey grin on his face. "D'you do it? D'we win?"

Everyone laughed, Hermione included. "I did down your shot, it's gross. And with your trouble with gravity there, I don't think you've won much of anything," she teased leaning over and kissing him on the cheek. He turned and caught her lips with his own, returning the kiss with much more intensity than she'd originally offered. She blushed but didn't back off as he snogged her in front of everyone. She vaguely heard Harry's voice and felt the heat of Ginny's body moving away. And then some of the Aurors hollered and wolf whistled. Ron broke off the kiss to look around and two of the Quidditch girls were snogging each other.

"Bloody hell, that's hot," Ron commented, staring. Beside him, Ginny was straddling Harry's lap and they were snogging too. Some of the older Aurors agreed and another two stood, apologising and making excuses to go back to their wives, who from the looks of things, were all standing around gossiping with Mrs Weasley.

"We should go home, Ron," she muttered. He'd started spending the weekend nights at her house and the weekdays still at Grimmauld because he and Harry were more accountable to get to work when they were with each other. He didn't seem to have heard her comment.

"Oi! Harry, stop snogging my baby sister!" George's voice called from a couple yards away beyond the edge of light cast by the candles and lanterns.

Harry gave a two finger salute in the direction of George's voice before returning his hand to tangle in Ginny's hair.

"Mum's headed this way," George called again and in much less time than Hermione would have expected from such inebriated individuals Ginny was off Harry's lap and back to her own chair, straightening her shirt and picking up a half-empty bottle of Butterbeer from beside her chair.

Harry's hair was more messy than usual from Ginny's fingers, but he looked remarkably alert if not completely sober. He glanced around in a move that might have been surreptitious if Hermione hadn't been watching him, before realising that George had been teasing and Mrs Weasley wasn't actually coming.

Ron was grinning and still staring at the girls who were snogging across the circle. "Think you'd do that? With someone you liked?" He stage-whispered at her. Ginny and Harry, the two closest to them both raised their eyebrows.

"Umm, Ron, I'm not..." Hermione stuttered.

"Oh, come on, just a snog. It'd be hot," he encouraged.

Hermione pursed her lips. It was a totally ridiculous drunk request and she should stick to her convictions and say absolutely not. But she couldn't help the Slytherin in her mind coming up with counter offers and ways to get him to never ask her things like that again.

"Only if you snog Harry first," she said, more quietly. Ginny had leaned closer and must have heard because she giggled.

"What? No way!"

"Why not? It's just a snog, Ron," Hermione teased back.

"Erh," he leaned back, ever the strategist. Except his strategies weren't the best when he was drunk off his arse. "Only if you snog a girl afterwards. Kind of like a palate cleanser."

"Of course," she agreed and before she could even recant her statement, he leaned over, grabbed Harry by the back of the neck and laid one on him. Harry, just as drunk as Ron, actually snogged him back.

"Bloody Merlin!" one of the Quidditch players shouted, breaking up the snog on their side of the circle.

Harry shrugged and broke the kiss. He laughed. "Ginny's definitely the better kisser, sorry Ron."

Ron shrugged. "Figured kissing one ginger was just as good as another."

"Well in that case," Hermione murmured and leaned closer to Ginny. Ginny wasn't as drunk as her brother or boyfriend and must have seen Hermione's side glance at her earlier because she climbed onto Hermione's lap like she'd sat on Harry's. Ginny's tongue slid immediately into Hermione's open mouth. She tasted of chocolate, cinnamon, and butterscotch. She was fiery and passionate and Hermione gave herself over to the kiss. Ginny's lips were soft and her body pressed against Hermione's, igniting that low burn of arousal between Hermione's thighs. When Ginny's hands came up and caressed one of Hermione's breasts, Hermione heard Ron groan.

Harry's voice cut through the fog in her brain. "That's hot," he said.

"That's my sister!" Ron whined, obviously not happy with Hermione's choice of girl. "Get off, Ginny, and stop feeling 'Mione up. She's mine!" Ginny moaned a little and rocked her hips against Hermione's, before finally backing off. She continued to sit on her lap, though.

"Wow," Hermione mouthed. Ginny's answering grin seemed to mirror the statement. Ginny got off of Hermione's lap sat back down in her chair.

Hermione reached out to Ron, "Let's go home," she said, squeezing his hand.

"Won't get much out of me now, that was an instant mood killer."

"Didn't kill my mood," Harry said blandly. There was laughter around the circle again. Hermione even saw Neville nodding and shifting in his chair.

Hermione stood and walked past Harry. In his ear she whispered, "Ginny is the better kisser." Harry's laughter followed her back towards the table of older guests. She needed another Butterbeer to nurse until Ron decided if he was coming home tonight.

Kingsley grinned at her from across the table she'd approached. "You young folks having fun over there?" he asked, gesturing towards the far table she'd just come from. "Lots of laughter coming from that direction."

"Irresponsible fun, yes," Hermione agreed, smiling. She picked up the bottle of Butterbeer she'd come over for and before she could pull her wand to flick the cap off, Kingsley flicked his fingers at it in a display of easy wandless magic.

He smirked at her. "Heard Croaker about had a heart attack when you put in your two weeks' notice."

"That might have been because Smythwick was still hiding behind his desk when I came in," she offered.

His eyebrows raised. "Really? Interesting what sorts of things people in the Ministry get up to. Sure you don't want to come back?"

"I'm learning a great deal with Maurier. When I'm done with my apprenticeship and take the Ministry by storm, you'll be wishing you hadn't asked me that," she teased.

"I'm looking forward to it. I think you will do a lot of good, Hermione, and I've heard Maurier's one of the best."

"One of the only, but yes, one of the best as well," she agreed.

When Ron came up behind her half an hour later, he was practically drooling he was so drunk. "I'm going to crash here, 'Mine," he muttered in her ear. "Love you," he said and kissed her on the side of the neck. "Wanna stay?"

"You'll just be miserable in the morning, and I'd rather let your mother deal with you," she teased. He jerked like he'd fallen asleep laying over her shoulder.

"Night," he said again, kissing her ear. She smiled and rolled her eyes, yawning herself. It was definitely time for bed. She Apparated home and told Severus goodnight.

 *** . * . ***

 **Monday, 25 December 2000**

Hermione looked around the Burrow at all the family gathered together for Christmas. Bill, Fleur, and little Victoire, who was several months shy of two years, were there. Charlie was in from Romania, showing off a new burn scar and a new tattoo. Percy had brought his fiancée, Aubrey, a Muggle. Their wedding was scheduled for February so Percy had felt secure enough in his relationship with her to tell her that he was a wizard. No one brought up the fact that she would have to be Obliviated if for any reason the two backed out of the wedding. George was there with his girlfriend, Angelina, having closed the joke shop up for the holiday. Hermione was snuggled into Ron's side and Ginny was likewise with Harry on another sofa. Mr and Mrs Weasley were sitting on the loveseat.

The wireless was playing Celestina Warbeck still but someone had turned the volume low so as to not interfere with conversation. They'd already eaten dinner and given out presents and everyone was wearing their Weasley jumpers. Hermione was content to keep her eyes closed and float above the conversations around her. She could feel Ron's chest rumble slightly when he answered a question or spoke about Quidditch but the lovely turkey dinner Mrs Weasley had cooked had eased Hermione into a restful doze.

The Floo flashed green and an almost three-year-old little boy came barrelling out of the fireplace. A tall, formidable woman with dark hair, chiselled cheekbones, and steel grey eyes stepped out after him.

"Aunt Mine, Aunt Mine," he decided that Hermione was the best person to speak with. "Will you read book to me?" he asked, handing her a small book of fairytales out of his little belt where he'd stashed it.

She hummed and leaned forward to kiss Teddy on the head. "You've got to greet everyone first, Teddy, then I'll read one story."

"Kay," he said and moved around the room. "Hi... Hi... Hi..." Each person was given a simple greeting and a wave, except for Harry who grabbed him up and snuggled him close. "No, Uncle Harry! Aunt Mine s'pose read me book."

"She can read it to you from over there," Harry teased, laying a kiss on the little boy's dark hair. As he wiggled in Harry's grasp his hair turned from dark brown to orangey-red like the Weasleys.

"Honorary Weasley, right there," George muttered.

Harry finally let Teddy back to the floor but before he could get back over to Hermione, Victoire toddled closer to him. "Hi," he said to her, raising his hand to wave. She grabbed his hand and giggled and then turned, tugging him behind her to a set of blocks and a doll. He gave an exaggerated little long-suffering sigh and rolled his eyes but sat down next to Victoire to play with her instead of getting Hermione to read his book. The adults all around the room chuckled.

Hermione saw Harry kiss Ginny on the cheek and whisper in her ear. While most of the adults were watching the toddlers, Harry and Ginny slipped out the door. She could see just see their shadows past the garden window, but other than that paid no attention to them.

Mr and Mrs Weasley greeted Andromeda Tonks properly once the children settled down and the rest of the group called greetings to her as well. Fleur got up and started the two kettles they needed for the double tea sets they'd given the Weasleys, seeing as how they had such a large family and seemed to be adding to it. She pressed her hand to the slight swell of her belly underneath her jumper and looked up to smile at Bill.

There was a squeal from out in the garden and Ginny came running back in. "Look, look!" she shouted as she held out her wrist. On it was a beautiful yellow gold bracelet with diamonds and rubies.

As everyone around Ginny started offering congratulations to her and good-natured threats to Harry, Hermione smiled. She had helped Harry look up the proper way to word the proposal as well and exactly how the betrothal jewellery worked. She was thankful for the research she'd done on the jewellery when she'd been at Hogwarts that last year. Harry had asked Mr Weasley if he was supposed to do the contract but Mr Weasley had waved him off. 'Just surprise out little girl,' he'd told him.

Harry slipped another jewellery box back into his pocket. Without a contract or a specified length of engagement, he could give her every piece of a betrothal jewellery set he wanted. Apparently, Ginny had been so excited she'd run back inside after just the bracelet. As if in celebration, Fleur started levitating teacups and saucers to each of the guests. The conversation grew louder in the excitement.

Ron shifted underneath Hermione. "Hey," he whispered in her ear. She turned her head to look at him in her periphery.

"Hmm?"

"You're not upset I haven't... you know, given you a piece of betrothal jewellery, are you? I just... I didn't think we were to that point in our relationship."

She turned to face him better, still snuggled into his chest. "You're right. I don't think we're there yet." She smiled and leaned up to kiss him sweetly on the lips. "But we will be," she assured him.

"Of course," he agreed. He kissed her.

"Ron, take your teacup!" Fleur called to him.

He broke off their kiss and glanced up, his ears turning slightly pink. He reached up and grabbed the teacup and saucer Fleur had floated his way.

"'Ermione, yours iz next," she called.

Hermione sat up properly to receive her own teacup and saucer. Smiling her thanks at Fleur. She sipped it and listened to the happy chatter from all around her. The chatter and the tea warmed her heart and soul and it felt like a Patronus pouring out of her wand. She was happy.


	20. Chapter 20

**Saturday, 10 February 2001**

Hermione straightened her skirt again, wiping sweaty palms on the material over her thighs. She had wanted to entice Ron, so she went out shopping and purchased a short, tight, light blue dress for their next date. And she'd forgone the knickers.

She had been excited for this weekend because Ron had been out of town for two weekends in a row, once for one of Ginny's Quidditch practice weekends and for the other, it had been a camping assignment as part of his Auror training. Hermione had told him to tell his boss that they'd done enough camping while hunting for Horcruxes but he brushed her off saying that this was different. This was supposed to be a survival prep of some sort.

Hermione had rolled her eyes but smiled at him. They'd spent an evening after work together through the week, usually Thursdays, but Ron rarely had enough energy after work to want to have sex. Hermione was all but bursting with energy when he was dragging and exhausted. When he was more well rested and ready, she had pulled an all-nighter with personal research.

Finally, their schedules had lined up. They would be enjoying a nice meal out and hopefully coming back to her place to spend the night wrapped around each other. The crack of his Apparition sounded loud in her tiny yard, but she went to the door anyway. He looked relaxed and rested, no dark circles under his eyes. He smiled when he saw her. "Hey, Hermione."

"Hey," she greeted him back. She moved closer to him and kissed him. He kissed back for a moment before ending the kiss and putting his hands on her shoulders.

"Not that I don't like the dress, but..."

She glanced down, making sure everything was in place. Tall heels, short dress, no knickers. Abalone necklace and ring, makeup, hair up. "What's wrong with it?" she asked.

"Well, it's just that I'd told Ginny I'd come watch her practice. I thought we could share a pint with her and Harry afterwards. I just don't think you'd be comfortable in that while we're in the stands. I mean, you're great with warming charms, but we'll be high up in the stands for at least an hour."

She blinked at him, feeling stupid for a moment. Had two weekends ago not been Ginny's Quidditch practice? Had she misunderstood him? "Oh," was all she said. "Well, I guess I can change. Are you sure, though? I thought you went to her practice two weekends ago."

"Well, I did, but this time they're working on this new play that she's been really excited about and—"

Hermione smiled. "Right, okay. If you'll give me a few minutes to change," she said and then turned to go back into the house.

He followed her in and plopped gracelessly onto her sofa. "Got any beer here?" he asked.

"You know I don't," she said as she walked down the hall. Instead of going directly into her room, she opened the door to her study and levitated Severus's portrait out and into her bedroom. She put a finger in front of her lips to tell him to be quiet as she did so. They both heard the telly click on and the volume turn up. She sighed and propped Severus's portrait against her headboard.

"What am I doing in here? I thought we had established that I don't know anything about fashion aside from what I like. And," he made a point to look her up and down. "You've definitely taken the advice. Well, aside from the colour of the dress but that doesn't matter really." He stopped speaking and narrowed his brows, scrutinising her face. "You're about to cry. What did the imbecile do this time?"

"I thought we were going out and hopefully having some fun and then coming back here. I'm not wearing knickers," she muttered even as she used her wand unzip the back of her dress. A glance at Severus showed him visibly swallowing and looking back down at her thighs like he could see through the dress to determine if she were telling the truth. "And apparently we're just going to watch Ginny's Quidditch practice. Again. He just went by himself two weekends ago."

"Maybe you can entice him into bed after that?" he suggested slightly reluctantly. He groaned when she didn't even bother covering up in front of him and stood there in nothing but her high heels.

"We're going to get dinner at the pub with Harry and Ginny after. And I'm sure he'll want to spend hours talking about what he'd just watched and the three of them will talk Quidditch all night. By the time they've had their fill of beer I'll be bored out of my mind." She kicked off the shoes and dressed properly. Knickers, jeans, bra, tee, jumper. Then she did a quick charm to wash the makeup from her face and pulled her hair down. The hair she immediately put back up in a braid to keep it from tangling. She sat down to put on her socks and trainers.

"I'm sorry your date night isn't turning out as planned," Severus told her.

She gave him a sad, little smile. "It's not your fault. I'm sure if you had made plans with me you would have kept them and taken into consideration my hobbies as well."

"Which are researching, reading, and more researching. I know you don't like Quidditch but it is popular," he teased.

She rolled her eyes. "Well, how do I look? Ready to sit in the windy stands and read a book while Ginny practices?"

"Are you really going to take a book?"

"I was thinking about it. Maybe see if I can't charm the word 'erotica' on the cover. Might be the least subtle hint I can throw at him."

"I know this is a stretch of the imagination but maybe he just doesn't have a high libido?"

"He's twenty! I thought all young guys had a high libido!"

"Shh," he hushed her, "No need to yell. Don't want lover-boy to come back here and see you chatting me up when you should be changing."

"I've already changed."

"My point. Put me back in the study, I was going to read one of your new law books."

"Not the _1521-1525_ , are you?" She grinned at him.

"Is that the one with the titillating farmer's daughter?" he asked with seeming innocence.

She laughed. "I think I'd get more orgasms out of you than I would Ron if you gave it a go."

"Please, you would give yourself those orgasms not me. I'm just a painting."

"Of course you are," she said. She opened the bedroom door and looked down the hall to make sure Ron wasn't watching and then levitated Severus's portrait back into the study. She tucked her wand into her pocket and walked out to meet Ron.

"Ready? I was getting worried we'd miss the beginning," he said, turning off the telly. He returned to her yard and watched her lock up before reminding her where to Apparate. She apparated a few moments after him. They walked up the stairs to the stands and joined Harry, already seated and watching the fourteen girls that made up the Holyhead Harpies professional Quidditch team fly warming laps. Hermione hugged Harry when he greeted them and she sat down, looking around at the two dozen or so family and friends of the players. She patted her pocket and groaned when she realised she forgot her book. This was going to be a long hour.

One hour turned into three and it was dark and rainy when the three of them finally met up with Ginny. Her hair was wet from her shower but she looked flushed and excited from what they'd been practising. Hermione followed along, letting the conversation wash over her. She even let Ron hold her arm and Side-Along her to the pub the three of them had planned for. They ordered a large spread, though more beer and snacks than actual food and Hermione spent the next three hours half-istening as they ate and talked. Ron leaned back and patted his stomach, groaning from eating too much greasy food.

"You coming back to Grimmauld Place, Hermione?" Ginny asked.

She rarely went to Grimmauld Place. Ginny wasn't officially living there but spent many of her nights there anyway. When Hermione and Ron spent the night together it was usually at her house. Hermione figured that Ginny's offer might be the only offer of the night so she agreed. They all Apparated separately and Harry and Ginny retreated to his bedroom as soon as they arrived. They called their good nights to Hermione and Ron but vanished up the stairs with Ginny giggling.

"It's a bit awkward, you coming here, huh? I might be able to find you a toothbrush."

"Are you getting ready for bed now? I mean, you just ate, don't you want to stay up a little bit longer?" she asked.

"Eh," he said, shrugging. "I had a long week. I think a good night's sleep with you in my arms is just what the healer ordered."

Hermione sighed and followed him up. It was late, but Hermione wasn't really sleepy. She used a spell to clean her teeth when Ron couldn't find an extra toothbrush even though it wasn't her favoured way of doing things. Better a spell than no toothbrush at all. She undressed down to her knickers and tee and crawled in the bed, snuggling into Ron's arms like he expected.

He said a breathy goodnight in her ear and she laid there and spent an hour thinking. Maybe she could wake him up for sex? Maybe she could just wait another half hour, so it seemed like she had fallen asleep too and then woke up, but before she realised it she fell asleep for real.

 *** . * . ***

 **Sunday, 11 February 2001**

 _She heard that little giggle and watched Ylva dash past the drawing room furniture. Rabastan's chuckle followed behind it and she actually saw him in the dreams for the first time. His hair had grown out and he looked happy being particularly silly as he crawled from behind the sofa like he was hunting little Ylva. The smiles on both their faces made Hermione's feel heavy._

 _"Where are you, Ylva?" Rabastan called playfully, peeking around the sofa when Ylva peeked around the other end, obviously hiding._

 _She was always young, but in this one she seemed to be about two, steady on her legs and in the most adorable white and blue dress with a little pinafore over it. It looked like something that Rabastan would have picked out._

 _"Where's Mummy?" Rabastan asked the little girl._

 _"I dunno," the girl muttered._

 _"I'm right here, Ylva," Hermione said to her._

 _"Not here," the girl muttered again._

 _"No, not here. Mummy loves you, though. Daddy loves you too."_

 _"Miss Mummy," she said, rubbing her eye with a little fist like she was sleepy._

 _"I know baby, I miss her too," he stood and walked around the sofa away from Hermione to pick up the child. Hermione was starting to feel a sense of panic and dread. What had happened to the happy little dreams she'd had?_

 _"Where's Mummy?" Ylva said once she was settled on Rabastan's hip._

 _"She's replacing us," he said, but the scene had changed and they were outside. The gardens were dead and brittle and Hermione's feet and arms were suddenly cold. "She's replaced us," his voice said again. Hermione couldn't see him anymore. Couldn't see Ylva or Rabastan. All she could see were dead trees and vines._

When Hermione woke up with a start she found out why she had been cold. Ron had rolled over and burritoed himself in the blanket, leaving Hermione without. She sighed and tried to yank it back, but he grumbled and held tight. She didn't want to wake him. He always seemed so tired. She had thought about waking him for sex but now that she saw him sleeping she just couldn't bring herself to do it. Though after a dream like that she wasn't in the mood any longer anyway.

She got up and padded across the cool wooden floor, stepping over the last board before the bathroom as it creaked. When she'd finished and washed her hands, not bothering to wait for the warm water she went back to the bed and picked up her wand from the bedside table. She cast a warming charm and then duplicated the blanket Ron was holding. She laid it on her side and crawled under. Toasty. Just like she wanted.

When she opened her eyes again, it was a little after dawn. She burrowed down under her blanket and thought about closing her eyes to go back to sleep but decided against it. She might not want to leave the warm bed just yet, but she had plenty to do today. She needed to do a little grocery shopping and do some cooking to prepare her lunch and dinners for the week ahead. It was a habit she'd seen her mum do often, and wanting to be closer to her mum, Hermione had picked it up along with some of her parents' favourite recipes.

Hermione glanced over at Ron and smiled at him. He'd opened his mouth in his sleep and had a thin line of drool hanging off his bottom lip and he'd worked his head up underneath his pillow instead of on it. He was adorable in sleep. She pushed her cover back and went to the bathroom to take a quick shower and tame her hair.

When she came back out Ron was out of bed. Hermione used a Scouring Charm on her clothes and dressed, the stiff way the fabric rubbed against her skin giving the briefest tactile memory flash of life on the run. After tying her trainers, Hermione headed to the kitchen.

She could hear Ron talking to someone before she descended the last few steps. "—and she took forever in the bathroom. Had to use the one downstairs for my morning—"

"I'm cooking here," Ginny's voice rang out. "Shouldn't you be used to it? We all grew up with one the one bathroom in the house. Just be thankful there's more than one here."

"Yeah, but I've got used to having my own all to myself."

"So used to it that you forget how to do a simple Scourgify," Harry complained back. "As soon as I realised you'd invited her I attacked your bathroom with cleaning spells. No need for her to sleep over just to slip on dirty towels or sit on the seat you've pissed on."

"I would have cleaned it!" Ron argued but laughed.

Harry laughed with him. "Yeah. Sure, after she lectured you. Hermione's not your mum, she's your girlfriend. She shouldn't need to lecture you."

"Yeah, yeah, whatever."

Hermione wasn't sure how she faired in that conversation. Ron had obviously been frustrated that she had used his bathroom. Harry had cleaned up for her, but not necessarily _for_ her. Just because he didn't want to hear Hermione lecture Ron. Or at least, that's how it seemed. She slowly stepped up the previous six steps and then stepped heavily on each step as she came down. No need to let them know she'd been eavesdropping.

"Hey, Hermione!" Ginny said from where she was standing in front of the cooker, waving with a spatula. "Scrambled eggs and sausage okay?"

"Yes, that's fine, thank you." Ron and Harry were still in pyjamas, it seemed. Or tracksuit bottoms in Harry's case. Harry stood and moved to the coffee pot to pour her a cup. He added the cream and sugar and set it down in front of a chair opposite Ron. Hermione sat and took a sip, letting the heat from the brew warm her well.

"How did you sleep?" Harry asked.

"Had some trouble getting to sleep, and a few dreams, but nothing bad."

"Really? I thought you'd gone right to sleep when we went to bed," Ron asked, looking up from his cup.

"I'm just not used to sleeping in a different house or a different bed. Just the usual Goldilocks dilemma."

Harry grinned but both Weasleys said a combined, "Wha-uh?"

"It's just a fairytale. About extremes and finding things between the extremes the most pleasant."

"How does...? Can you explain it, or tell it or something? I don't understand," Ron asked. He was looking at Harry but Harry gestured towards Hermione. So she told the little story about Goldilocks and the Three Bears.

"Oh. I like that story. It's cute," Ginny said as she plated up the meal she had been cooking. She set a plate in front of Harry first, then Hermione, then beside Hermione, and then Ron. He frowned at her as he watched.

"Oi!" he said in mock indignation.

"Oi, yourself," Ginny teased back as she sat down.

"Thanks, Ginny," Hermione told her.

After breakfast, Ginny had to leave and Harry excused himself to some other part of the house.

"So," Ron said, sitting back in his chair and stretching his legs out. "What do you want to do today? Maybe walk down Diagon Alley? Quality Quidditch Supplies has some new broom polishes. And I wanted to look at the newest Nimbus that's out."

Hermione frowned. "I've told you before, Ron, that on Sundays I go shopping and do all, or most, of all my cooking during the week."

"Well, you can do that later, right? You don't need all day to cook."

"How long is your mum in the kitchen for a holiday dinner, like Christmas?"

He wrinkled his nose and glanced past her in thought. "I guess she's in there most of the day, but you're—"

"I'm cooking enough things to have lunch and dinner for the next five days. It's several meals and I have to make sure I've got all the ingredients. It's a process."

"Can you just magic it up? I mean, I know about the Transfiguration law about food, but I mean, you can make the process faster with magic, can't you? I mean, Mum does it."

"I do use magic in the kitchen, but not a lot. I have electronics in my kitchen—my cooker, my fridge—I can't use too much magic around those things without damaging them."

"Then maybe you should live in a wizard's dwelling, or convert yours or something. You don't really need those elecktictral things, do you?"

She held the sigh that she wanted to release. "I'm not converting my kitchen. I like it the way it is. I'm not moving house, not for a while at least. I like where I live."

"You wouldn't want to live with me?"

Hermione had the perfect opportunity to mention his complaints about her using his bathroom, but decided against saying them. No need to start an argument. "I don't think we're ready for that, yet."

"You lived with the Death Eater without dating him first."

Hermione's eyes went wide. What were the odds that she'd have a dream about Rabastan and then Ron would mention him? "The circumstances were different at the time."

"Yeah, you were knocked up. I know. Just wondering if you miss him or something. You said his name last night in your sleep."

"I did?" She asked, genuinely curious and almost hoping that it was something she could deny.

"Yeah, said something like 'missed Stan', but then you rolled over and I didn't hear anything else."

Then Hermione did something she didn't understand. She lied. "Oh! I was probably going over my calendar for next week. There's a client that I'm supposed to be meeting with Maurier, a Stan-somebody." She paused, thinking, "I really should get one of those electronic calendars so I can put all of my appointments there instead of lugging my notebook around," she shook her head as if to dislodge the thought and get back to the main conversation. "I was probably dreaming of missing Stan's appointment. You know I've always had those sorts of dreams, where I'm late and can't find my homework. I still get them as an adult."

He looked thoughtful. "Yeah, that does make sense. I remember, didn't you say your Boggart in third-year was you failing all of your tests?" He grinned.

"Yes, failure was my greatest fear at the time. Now, I'd probably see you and Harry dead, which I'd rather not. Which is another nice thing about not living in a magical dwelling—no Doxies and no Boggarts."

He frowned, "but they're attracted to magic in general, why wouldn't you end up with them?"

"I don't use it very often. To clean my bathroom or straighten my bedroom."

"Right," he nodded though he was frowning. "So you can't hang out a bit then?"

She looked down at her watch. "I could stay for another hour maybe."

"Diagon Alley then?" he asked, standing and heading for the stairs.

"I was thinking we could go back to bed, actually," she teased quietly following behind him.

"Back to bed? But you're—" he turned around to look at her and she quirked her lips and raised her eyebrows, hoping the look was playful like she wanted. "Oh! Yeah... yeah, sure, we can do that." He grinned and Hermione shut the bedroom door behind them.

 *** . * . ***

 **Tuesday, 20 February 2001  
**

"So, what made you decide to start therapy?" The older woman asked. Dr Grinstone was tall and slight, even at fifty-some years of age. She had black, wavy hair that was streaked with white that she wore in a low bun. Her clothes were well tailored. She sat tucked into the corner of one sofa facing Hermione, who was tucked into the opposite facing sofa.

Hermione took a deep breath. They'd already got a few preliminaries out of the way. Basic information. But she hadn't shared any of her history yet and she knew this would be the more personal part. They would touch on the war some other day. Right now, _this_ was what they needed to focus on. Hermione had to _fix_ this. "I said the name of the father of my miscarried child in my sleep and when my boyfriend confronted me about it I lied."

Grinstone did a wonderful job showing her shock without looking judgemental. Hermione wondered if she'd taken classes for that and whether that sort of thing would help her in dealing with criminal cases where her clients were actually the murderers she would claim they weren't. "That sentence had a lot of weight. Maybe you could unpack it for me? What part bothers you the most at the moment?" Grinstone spoke calmly but she didn't sound patronising. Hermione liked that. She didn't want to be spoken down to like she was somehow beneath someone just because she'd finally given in and sought therapy. Not that Hermione would be telling anyone. Her friends did not need to know that she had cracked and needed help. She wasn't crazy. She wasn't.

Hermione thought about the question Grinstone posed. What bothered her the most? All of it really. She didn't want to think about Rabastan Lestrange. She had thought she was past thinking about Ylva—she hadn't dreamed about her in years. She didn't like that she'd lied about anything to Ron. It made her feel like she wasn't a good girlfriend. That was the easiest to think about, the lightest of the weight, the thing with the least importance. Hermione still wasn't sure about this therapy thing and she didn't want to trust this, albeit kind, woman with her darkest thoughts yet.

"That I lied."

Grinstone nodded but her eyes seemed to say she understood. This was a lie too. The lie wasn't the thing that bothered Hermione the most. But Grinstone didn't argue or counter her in any way. She just waited patiently for Hermione to speak.

Hermione fidgeted instead. It was awkward, this talk therapy stuff. She wanted to get out of there. This wasn't her. She was stronger than this. She took another deep breath and found her mouth opening anyway. "Ron said I said, "miss Stan" in my sleep and I made up a lie about having an appointment for work with a client named Stan and it was probably my overactive perfectionism that had me dreaming about missing an appointment with the man."

"And when did you feel like you'd gone too far? Or did you feel that?"

"I felt bad the moment the lie came out of my mouth, but I'd have rather him think that than to know what I'd been dreaming about," Hermione answered. And then she could have whacked herself on the head for creating the opportunity for the therapist to lead into her dream.

Grinstone smiled and surprised Hermione. She didn't ask about _what_ Hermione dreamt. "Do you think your boyfriend wouldn't be understanding of your dreams? Or realise that we don't control what we dream?"

"I..." she had opened her mouth to speak but then closed it, realising that she wasn't really sure. Did she think Ron would be understanding about her Ylva dreams? No, because in the past he'd not understood why Hermione had been sad. She'd lied then too, or, obscured the whole truth. "No," she muttered feeling upset with herself.

"Is there some reason you don't think he'd be understanding?"

Hermione's face pinched in frustration. "Ron's been my friend for ten years," she said, though she realised the defensive tone she'd taken and glanced up to see if Grinstone had taken offence. She hadn't, she was just smiling. Listening. "How much do you know about Hogwarts and the war?" She asked.

When Grinstone said very little but she'd love to learn, Hermione started on about her Hogwarts letter and learning she was a witch, meeting Harry and Ron on the train, then about the troll, and she had got to the end of fourth-year when Voldemort returned before a soft chime sounded alerting them that the session was done for the day.

"You can continue your tale at next week's session, or we can discuss anything else you'd like. How are you feeling now?" Grinstone asked.

Hermione took another deep breath and noticed that her mouth was dry from all the talking. "Heavy. Still heavy."

"Would you like to schedule another session for this week instead of waiting for next week?"

She shook her head, "No." Although she lived alone, basically, and she didn't have anyone keeping tabs on her whereabouts, she didn't want her friends to know she was coming to therapy. Having more than one session a week seemed like it would be asking for trouble. "I can wait."

"All right, but if you need anything, please give my office a call and we'll work with your schedule, even if it's just a fifteen-minute phone conversation to get you through." She smiled again and stood, gesturing for Hermione to precede her out the door. Grinstone walked with her to the waiting area where she said her goodbyes and called her next patient back. Hermione stood in the foyer blinking and breathing, wondering what on earth she was doing. She shook her head and left, Apparating home.

It bothered her that when she'd asked Maurier if she could skip out an hour early on Tuesday, he'd just grinned and told her that every Tuesday from then on she only worked until four. She pursed her lips. She really felt like she should make up that hour at other times and had even tried coming back to work ten minutes early from lunch but he'd just shook his head and sat on her desk talking to her until the ten minutes were up and then he let her get back to work.

He was infuriating but she was learning a lot. The lesson about being paid for the hours you work just wasn't one she really wanted to learn. She didn't feel right leaving things unfinished or not giving her all to the job. Maybe she could talk to Grinstone about that. Maurier had said he spoke with Grinstone regularly. Maybe the good doctor would speak to him for her.


	21. Chapter 21

**Saturday, 7 April 2001**

Hermione was at Grimmauld Place by dawn, holding a tray of four tall coffees from the local coffeehouse she'd found down the street. She knocked on the door before opening it and frowned when Mrs Black's portrait woke up and started screeching. She ignored the woman in the portrait and walked down the hall towards the steps to the kitchen, bypassing the stairs and the house elf heads hanging on the spindles of the staircase. Kreacher's was there. Hermione shivered. She had hated that Harry had done that but couldn't stop him no matter how much she'd argued.

Kreacher had fallen ill last year, so ill he couldn't climb from his little nest of rags in the kitchen. He'd begged Harry to behead him like his ancestors, claiming it was the highest honour for when he'd grown so old he was of no use. Hermione had argued that he was just sick and needed a healer, but Kreacher laughed so hard he coughed. When he'd got his breath back he told her that there are no healers for house elves and Wizard's healers couldn't help him. He was dying. So Harry had made a deal with the old elf. Instead of killing him, the elf would be made comfortable until he died on his own but then Harry would behead him and hang his head with his ancestors.

Hermione had been disgusted and outraged when she came in after that to find Kreacher's head, severed but under an intensely strong stasis charm, hanging from his place on the stairs. She'd been shocked that he'd actually done it. "I thought you were just placating him!" she'd told him. He half-grinned half-grimaced and just said he wanted to keep his word.

It was time to take them down. Those and Mrs Black's portrait. Hermione was here at dawn with strong, sugary sweet coffee to wake up the occupants of the house and then they were going to do a complete renovation. In just a month, Harry and Ginny would be getting married and Ginny wanted the house more to her taste before moving in. This was the best house-warming thing Hermione could think of short of burning the place down.

As Hermione settled down at the table with her coffee, holding it between her hands while she waited for the screeching portrait to do her job for her, she thought about Ron. They hadn't talked about if he was going to be moving out of Grimmauld Place when Ginny moved in. There was plenty of room, of course, but it just seemed weird for him to continue living with Harry once Harry got married. Hermione wasn't sure if she was ready for him to move in with her, either.

"Oh shut up, you old hag," Ginny's yell could be heard in the basement as she bellowed from the first floor. Quieter, but still heard in the ringing silence, she said, "Isn't there a way to kill that portrait?" Hermione nodded to herself, knowing there was. That was going to be her gift. She would be giving them the option of draining the Dark Magic from any portrait in the house. Clomping down the steps alerted Hermione to the incoming residents. Ron was first but Harry and Ginny followed shortly after.

"Ooo, fancy coffee," Ginny said, reaching out for her own cup. She took a sip and hummed. "That's really good."

Ron made a face after sipping his own. "Mocha again?"

"Oh, here," Harry offered the one he was about to drink, "Mocha's mine, right Hermione?" he asked, casting a glance at her over his shoulder.

"Yes. The latte was for Ron, sorry they got mixed up," Hermione confirmed. Though a quick glance showed that the names written on the cups were correct. She wanted to roll her eyes at the fact that he couldn't be bothered to even read his name but refrained.

"All right," Hermione said once everyone had drunk several swallows of coffee and were now looking a bit more awake. "So we can start the renovations at one corner of the house and go to the other—remember, we're pulling down wallpaper, curtains, carpets, and furniture out. Or I can give you my present first."

"Pressie? You've got us a present?" Ginny asked, grinning.

"I know how to kill Mrs Black's portrait. Forever. Humanely."

Harry's eyebrows raised. "The Dark Magic, thing, right? I wish you could just get rid of the crazy. I'd really like to be able to have a decent conversation with her."

"Harry, you're too sensitive," Ron argued. "There's nothing in the portrait but crazy screeching. The old bat didn't charm anything into her painting that could resemble conversation."

"Unfortunately, I don't think the Dark Magic elimination will reverse the permanent sticking charm, but I was thinking the hall was cramped anyway. If we can determine if the wall is load-bearing or not we might be able to just cut the portrait off the wall," Hermione explained. "But we'll need to hire a contractor for that, I think. I will have to try and have a conversation with Mrs Black to explain what I'm going to do to her. If you three want to start on another room that would be great and as long as we don't get distracted, we can each do one room. Unless you think things will go faster all together?"

"I want to watch you kill her," Ginny frowned.

"It's not really entertaining, Ginny," Hermione offered. "She'll just go to sleep and then the portrait will revert back to a painting. Simple as that. She won't be screaming in pain about being burned alive nor will she complain that she's melting."

Harry snorted into his cup. "What would cause her to scream that? Water? She's not green but she's definitely a wicked witch." he said, grinning.

Hermione laughed but then answered, "Turpentine. Water would cause damaged and a bit of pain, but turpentine will cause her to feel like she's melting. It's been said to be one of the worse ways for a portrait to die."

"I don't get it? What's funny?" Ron asked and Ginny looked confused as well.

Hermione and Harry shared a smile. "Muggle thing," he said. "Maybe we can get a telly working in here, what do you think Hermione? Honorary showing of the Wizard of Oz first?"

"If Mr Weasley hasn't been able to get a telly working in a magical dwelling, there's little chance that I could. We'll just have to rent it and watch it at my house one day."

"Sounds like a plan," Harry agreed, setting his empty coffee cup on the table. "I'll start on the dining room, I guess."

"I'll start on a bedroom," Ginny said. Standing and taking both her cup and his to the bin.

"If you'll leave Sirius's room for me, you can deal with the rest."

"I guess that means I'll start here in the kitchen. Is there really much to do in here?" Ron asked.

Hermione glanced around. It was one of the rooms that had been given the most attention over the years. "The curtains are sad and need replacing. The lighting needs updating." She looked at the floor. "Cobwebs in the corners, floor needs a thorough sweep and mop. Kreacher's pantry—if you guys haven't done that yet—" she said, raising her eyebrows at them, both boys ducked their heads. "There's got to be a more modern cooker but since it's connected to the fireplaces because it's coal burning, that needs to be left to the contractor. The chairs need to be reinforced or Transfigured into something more sturdy and matching. The table needs revarnishing—"

"Okay, okay, I get it. There's plenty to do in the kitchen," Ron said laughing, raising his hands in defeat. The others laughed as well and then went their separate ways.

Hermione went back up to the foyer. Mrs Black's portrait glared at her but didn't speak for a moment. Before she started another round of screeching, Hermione held up her hand.

"Hello, Mrs Black. I used to work for the Dark Artefacts Agency at the Department of Mysteries. I know the spell to humanely kill a portrait. I wanted to let you know before I begin. Do you have anything you want to tell anyone or say to anyone?"

The twisted old woman in the portrait let her eyes go wide. "You're going to kill me?" she said softly. "You can't. I'm a Black! Blacks don't kill portraits! It's a crime to kill a portrait!" The woman's volume had continually increased until she was screeching again. "Mudblood cow, you dare blemish the halls of the Ancient House of Black!"

Hermione remained calm, hearing the portrait's annoying voice call her that didn't bother her in the slightest anymore. "Mrs Black," she spoke again. That same even, confident tone. The portrait had to stop yelling to listen. "I can and I will. I know portraits can have long, fruitful lives with conversation and thought. I don't know if your portrait was given enough of your essence for that to happen. Can you tell me, do you remember what happened to Orion Black?"

The portrait of the woman frowned. "Orion... Orion... Orion was my cousin," she stated plainly. Quietly.

"Yes. Anything else about him?"

"He used to drink firewhisky in his study. Shut me out all the time."

"Why did he shut you out?" Hermione asked, feeling like her therapist for a moment.

"Screamed. I screamed a lot. At... At my sons. Our sons."

"Yes. Do you remember what happened to them? Orion or your sons?"

"Died. All died. I was the last," she sounded off to Hermione before she realised that it was because the portrait looked like she wanted to cry. Unfortunately, portraits were incapable of crying.

"Except you weren't the last. Sirius was alive."

"Sirius," the anger in the portrait came back, she spat the name like it was poison. "Blood traitor, foul spawn. Dead now, isn't he? Haven't seen him in years. Dead, dead, dead!" she cackled.

"Is there anything else you need to share or tell anyone, Mrs Black? I think I'll start the spell soon."

Then the screaming started again and Hermione sighed. There wasn't any hope for Mrs Black. "You can't kill a Black witch! I'll burn you alive, Mudblood! Filth! You should be crawling, you filth! Get out of my house!"

Hermione pulled her wand out of her pocket and set to work.

 *** . * . ***

 **Saturday, 16 June 2001**

Harry did not get his way in the end. He had wanted a quiet, low key wedding with just Hermione and the Weasleys present. That did not happen. Instead, Ginny got her several-hundred galleon bash that could have rivalled a Malfoy wedding. They had erected tents again, to shade all the guests from the heat of a June sun—amazingly sunny, in fact, so much so that Hermione wondered if they'd somehow been able to cast a Weather Charm so large that it covered all of the orchards and the land surrounding the Burrow. The afternoon sun was warm and Hermione was already tired of the heels on her feet. The Weasleys had invited the whole of Wizarding Society in Britain, she thought. Except Rita Skeeter, and perhaps Draco Malfoy. There might have been a few Slytherins that crept onto the guest list but it seemed that anyone that Harry had ever met in his life, plus everyone who'd ever wanted to meet The Boy Who Lived, was at the wedding.

The ceremony itself had been lovely. Very similar to Bill and Fleur's with the lights and sparkling. But the reception was lasting several hours longer than absolutely necessary. Though a large portion of that had been taken up with the receiving line. Hermione had caught the happy couple before the ceremony and told them in no uncertain terms that she would not be standing in the receiving line since she'd been there since before dawn getting ready for the thing.

Hermione had finally found a quiet spot, far away from the intimidatingly large dance floor that had been set up. So far away from the eight-piece orchestra that she couldn't hear the mid-tones from the clarinet or violin. Only the highest notes of the flute and the bassy rumbles of the cello lingered on the air out here. She could hear the wind blow the leaves in the apple trees and see the large almost full moon shining down over everything, casting a bluish white glow on the tents, the dimmed candlelight sconces, and the trees themselves.

Most of the guests were on the dance floor and the tables surrounding it. The buffet had been up there and the table Hermione was relaxing at now had two or three crumb-filled plates and several empty wine glasses. Even with magic, the grounds surrounding the Burrow were going to be a mess to clean up. Hermione leaned back in her chair and closed her eyes, relaxing in the peaceful moment.

She had watched with teary eyes as Ginny and Harry had exchanged vows and declared their love for one another. It had been written all over their faces, but especially in the way they looked at one another. Harry seemed to worship Ginny as she glided around in her ballgown. Ginny hadn't stopped smiling since the week before. Hermione had been the one to insist she have a Calming Drought and a Dreamless Sleep the night before because she had been so restless and excited.

Hermione felt her chest constrict. The two of them had been having sex already, it wasn't like Ginny was anxious for that. The work on Grimmauld Place was taking a bit longer than anticipated, so it wasn't perfect yet, but Ginny would still be moving in. They were scheduled to go on a two-week honeymoon cruise and they would be leaving tomorrow. That had been a gift from the entire Auror Department, with Ron being the initiator. No, besides the cruise and the moving, what exactly was it that made Ginny so excited? She didn't understand, really. What was so exciting about signing a marriage certificate? That question worried Hermione. Was there something missing from her relationship with Ron that the idea of marrying him didn't make her as excited as Ginny had been to marry Harry? It was something she'd have to ask her therapist about.

It had been over four months since she'd started seeing Grinstone and Hermione had finally come to terms with the fact that she was seeing a therapist and it helped. She hadn't told her friends yet, but now she realised that she didn't need to. Not really. They were her friends but they didn't need to know every single thing in her life. It was self-care. Just the same as going to the gym, which she had decided to start doing on Friday mornings. Maurier had smiled and told her to come in half an hour late on Mondays, Wednesdays, _and_ Fridays and to go to the gym all three days. At first, Hermione hadn't wanted to, but when the doors to his office had locked her out the second time she'd tried to go in at her regular time, she realised he was serious about it. So she had started going to the gym. It was strange, really. Something she'd never seen her mother or father doing, had never noticed if anyone at Hogwarts did anything like routine exercise but she felt better. She felt like she was taking care of herself.

A throat being cleared alerted Hermione that she had company. She opened her eyes and looked in the direction of the sound. She expected to see Ron, or maybe George, come to find her and bring her back to the festivities but instead the man in front of her was none other than Draco Malfoy. She blinked, confused. Had the Weasleys really invited a Malfoy to their wedding?

"Draco?" she asked like she wasn't sure if he was real.

He smirked. "Do you dream about me so often you can't trust if you're not now?"

She laughed. "No, I just... I suppose I didn't expect to see you here. I didn't realise they'd invited you."

"I know. I technically didn't get my own invite. I was a plus one."

"Oh," she said, unsure of why those few words had seemed to sting.

"Theo is a friend to one of the blokes in the Auror Department, has worked with Potter and Weasley a few times on a Quidditch case. They played a few pickup games last year. He didn't know who to bring so I offered."

She blinked again, confused now for a different reason. It was a testament to the amount of wine she must have consumed over the evening that she blurted out the next thing that came to mind. "You're dating a bloke?"

He laughed and then pulled out the chair next to her and sat down. He ran a hand through his hair, still chuckling. "I've hooked up with a bloke a time or two, but no, I'm not dating Theo."

"You've... You've what?"

He had finally stopped chuckling but still grinned at her. "Does that surprise you?"

"I thought... Well, I mean I... Is homosexuality not stigmatised in the Wizarding world?"

"You think..." he laughed again. "I'm not gay, Hermione."

"But you just said—"

"I'll have sex with men and women. Is there not a word for that in the Muggle world?"

"Bisexual. Or pansexual, maybe."

"Two or all," he said quietly, "I'd like to think all would be the better qualifier though I've not had a chance to test it. How did you like the wedding?" He asked her.

She rolled her eyes. That was something she wasn't confused about at all. "Completely over the top. But I suppose it was going to happen. The Boy Who Lived and all that."

"Yes, the Boy Who Lived Twice," he said, nodding. "You're right though, this was quite the little shindig."

"Little?"

"Eh," he shrugged, "I suspect a Malfoy wedding would be about this size or larger."

"Good luck with that."

"I didn't say I wanted it that way but if my mother has a say in it it would be."

"Are you engaged then?"

"Oh, no. Mother likes to hint at me settling down, but I just can't seem to find the right person. Astoria was lovely, if a bit... frigid after a while."

"Please don't complain to me about your sex life," she murmured.

He laughed again. "Not what I meant when I said frigid, actually. _That_ was fine. It's that she wouldn't _talk_ to me. Wouldn't _argue_ with me."

"Argue with you? Why would you want someone to argue with you?"

He raised a hand and pointed it at her, "That. That right there. I could have said the same thing to her—that she wouldn't argue with me—and she would have said 'of course, Draco.' Like some sort of rote memorised droll. She wouldn't complain, or argue, or counter anything I said. I felt like I was surrounded by Vince and Greg again, agreeing with everything I said even if it was stupid."

"Sycophant."

"Yeah. I suppose that's how she was reared, you know. Be a good little society wife, take tea and play house, dress pretty and be demure. It's not what I want."

She looked at him then, truly looked at him. He was wearing fine tailored, charcoal dress robes in a stylish, modern cut and embroidery on the hem. The buttons on his chest were abalone. Hermione played with the ring on her right hand with her thumb for a moment. His hair was shaggy but coiffed just so. "What do you want?" She finally asked. The orchestra had stopped and it there seemed to be hushed chattering and chairs scraping as the party wound to a close.

He had been watching her as she studied him. "Passion," he said after a moment.

Just then Ron's voice called from across the orchard, "Hermione! Where'd you go?"

"Sounds like your quiet time is up," Draco said as he stood, offering her a hand to help her up. She stood and wobbled a bit from the wine before steadying herself with the table. "It was good seeing you again, Hermione." He reached out and touched her shoulder. She shivered at the heat of his hand. "Goodnight."

"Goodnight, Draco," she told him as she watched him walk away. She waited until he had gone past the apple trees and Disapparated with a near-silent pop before turning towards where Ron was headed her way. She forced a smile on her face and kissed him when he reached her.

 *** . * . ***

 **Sunday, 15 July 2001**

"What do you think I should do, Severus?"

"Why do you think this is something I can help you with? I thought Potter illuminated my history with you."

Hermione looked up with scrunched brows. "You mean Lily?"

Severus sighed. "Yes, I mean 'Lily.' What life experience could I possibly offer you at this juncture? Haven't you done this sort of thing before? With Krum, perhaps?"

"That was different."

"I don't see how. You approached the situation with logic and reasoning—oh," he paused, nodding as if finally understanding, "Mr Weasley doesn't always react well even with logic and reasoning."

"That's not fair to Ron, Severus, and you know it."

"I do?" he teased.

She took a deep breath and let it out. "Yes. You do. He's been away on a two-week long training mission, he's going to think..."

She expected Severus to prompt her but he didn't. He let the silence speak for itself.

She tried again. "I'm worried he'll think I've been having an affair if I speak with him when he gets back. But I'm not, I just..." She picked at her nails and thought about going to wash her hands to alleviate the clammy feel. "I just don't think we're suited. I mean, I love him but I think I'm looking for more in a relationship."

She heard the echo of Draco's voice in her head. "Passion," he'd said and despite the hot way she felt when she thought about the look he'd given her, studied her, she wasn't thinking of him specifically.

"Severus?"

"Hmm?"

"What do you want?"

"I'm dead, Hermione. I can't have anything."

"That's not... Well, maybe that is what I'm asking. What did you want in life?"

"At what point?"

"When you were my age?"

"And how old are you again?" he asked. The tease was back but he was quieter. He'd been that way a lot over the last six months or so. Terser. More morose.

"Almost twenty-two."

"When I was almost twenty-two, the woman—the person—that I loved most in the world had just died and it was my fault. My decisions, my need to belong, my desire for power. When I was almost twenty-two I wanted to die."

"And after that?" She looked up at the portrait. At twenty-five, Severus Snape had been handsome in his own way. Overly long nose and slightly oily hair, on the short side of average height but he held himself in a way that expressed confidence. She wondered if that had more to do with his magical capability than with his looks.

"There was no after that, Hermione. I wanted to die the rest of my life. I just had things I had to do first. Promises I made to a dead woman. Promises I tried to keep. I died thinking I'd broken those promises; I hadn't kept him safe and I thought I'd failed."

A knock sounded down the hall signalling Ron was at the door.

"Goodnight, Hermione."

"Do you want me to come and tell you—"

"Goodnight, Hermione."

"Oh, okay." He had gone still, not even blinking. She wondered if that was his essence's version of Occlumency. He'd been doing it more often lately and Hermione was almost positive he hadn't finished reading all the books in her library yet. She stood and wiped her sweaty palms on her jeans once more before walking to the door as Ron knocked again.

Hermione opened the door and Ron smiled at her, looking relieved. "Hey," he said as he scuffed his feet on the mat at the door before stepping into her house.

"Hey," she said, feeling awkward. How did she do this? She had no idea, all words she might have prepared had left her brain. He gestured to the sofa and raised his eyebrows.

"Oh, right, yes, please, have a seat. Would you like anything to drink? I have Butterbeer but no regul—"

"That's all right, Hermione. I just wanted to talk to you." He seemed to huff a bit through his nose. "Did you know they made us meditate before and after this trip? We weren't supposed to have any contact with the world but they didn't take into consideration that I could just send you a Patronus."

"That did startle me a bit, I was worried."

"Oh. Didn't mean to worry you. I had... Well, just come to a decision and wasn't sure how to commit to it. Sending you a Patronus seemed like the thing to do at the time."

"You came to a decision?" she asked, feeling the nerves churn in her stomach. Please don't let him be proposing. This can't be happening.

"Yeah. I... Umm," she noticed when he wiped his palms against the sofa cushion and looked away. She watched him swallow. Seems her lessons with Maurier about observation and body language were paying off. She blinked, trying to focus. "Well, I don't really know how to say this, but... I... I don't think we're working."

She blinked several more times to try and process what he'd said. "You don't think we're..."

"Oh, please don't have thought my decision was to propose." He frowned but spoke quickly. "It wasn't. It... I don't... I..."

Once she realised that he was just as nervous to break up with her and she had been going to do the same thing, she took the reins from him. "I understand. At Harry and Ginny's wedding... They just looked so _in love_ and," she heaved a breath, "It doesn't feel like that. I don't feel like I look at you the way Ginny looks at Harry and you deserve that. I think we both deserve that."

He half-grinned. "You felt it too, huh? The lack of something between us?"

She looked down at her hands in her lap. "Yes."

This time she heard him swallow. "I love you. I do," he said, but there was a tone of finality to his voice, "but I don't think we work together as a couple. Please don't hate me."

She looked up and smiled sadly at him, her eyes prickled and her nose twitched. She thought she was going to cry. Instead, she turned her head and sneezed, then laughed at the odd timing. "Sorry," she apologised. "I don't hate you, Ron. I love you too but you're right. We're better as friends. Friends that bicker, friends that might fight, but not..."

"Not lovers," he agreed, nodding. Then he laughed and the tension drained from his stiff shoulders. "You were going to break up with me too, weren't you? If I didn't do it?"

She ducked her head. "Yes."

"Want to come to the Leaky with the boys on Tuesdays after work for a beer? It'd be nice to get us all together again."

"What time?" she asked, hesitant.

"Right after work, six-ten, maybe a quarter after."

She grinned thinking about how Maurier had allowed her to modify her schedule. "I'll meet you there."


	22. Chapter 22

**Tuesday, 31 July 2001**

"There's been something I've been meaning to talk to you about," Dr Grinstone said. She had a smile on her face but it looked a little sad. "Can you tell me more about Severus?"

Hermione felt her brows furrow. "Do you know about portraits?"

"Moving, talking, animated paintings of people who were once alive. Yes, I've heard of them but I've never really seen or spoken with one before."

"Well, Severus is a portrait. He... What do you want to know about him?"

"Who is Severus?"

It took Hermione a moment or two of looking down at the pillows on the sofa before looking back up to Grinstone and speaking. "Severus Snape was a professor at Hogwarts for seventeen years. He was headmaster there for the last year of the war. He was a war hero and a double agent-pretending to be one of Voldemort's Death Eaters when he had been working for Dumbledore and the side of Light all along."

The therapist nodded. "How did you come to own his portrait?"

Hermione ducked her head and hid a small smile. "I stole him."

"Sorry?" The therapist asked but she was also smiling.

"Well, he must have charmed the portrait at his former residence rather than at Hogwarts, when his estate details finally got through all the red tape at the Ministry the man who inherited the house had the Dark Artefacts Agency I was working for at the time go and clear the house of Dark Magic residue. When I got there, the portrait asked me to take him with me. He didn't want to be hung up at Hogwarts and he'd been alone in his bedroom for over a year. He was bored and lonely. Now his portrait hangs in my study."

"How often do you speak with him?"

"Every night."

"And how often do you speak with your friends? Harry, Ron? Or any female friends?"

This time Hermione hesitated, a little unsure of where this was headed. "Er, maybe once a week, sometimes once every two weeks."

"Do you spend time outside of work with any of your co-workers?"

"Sometimes Maurier will take me out to dinner but it's usually for specific advocacy lessons."

"So you spend most of your free time speaking with a dead man?"

"Well, he's not really dead," she tried to explain.

Grinstone's eyebrows rose. "Can you elaborate on that for me? I'm not sure I understand."

"Well, he can think and learn. I've even rigged up my library so that he can have the book read allowed to him, to keep him from being bored."

"Does he have wants? Dreams? Does he encourage you in your wants and dreams?"

"Erh," Hermione felt like she was floundering. "He's said... Well, once I asked him what he wanted—without specifying what I'd meant—and he said he can have anything because he's dead. And he's... He's mentioned times that he..." Hermione felt like she might have started to blush but reminded herself that she was a grown adult and sex shouldn't be something to be nervous or embarrassed about. "He's said sometimes he'll still have... urges, but since he has no body to satisfy the feeling takes longer to fade."

"I asked around," Grinstone started, "Being the daughter of a squib doesn't get me in many doors, but I did get to speak with someone who knew about how portraits were made. Do you know how they're made?"

"Severus explained it as capturing a reflection at the moment of death and refers to the painting of himself as his 'essence.' I know it takes a dark spell to do it but it's relatively harmless."

"Right, that's what my contact said." She paused like she wasn't sure how to proceed. Hermione gave her the time to gather her thoughts. Merlin just knew how many times the woman had given Hermione that. "It seems strange to me, that people would want to live on when their body is no more especially when their conscious still remembers what it's like to have a body."

"What do you mean?"

"Well, let's say a brain-dead body is basically the opposite of a portrait. Would you want your body to live on without your mind?"

Hermione nodded in understanding but answered in the negative. "No. But my mind—I mean, I can keep learning, I can think, I can..."

"Yes, there's plenty of mental pursuits one can engage in. But how often do we think about doing something before we go and do it? I have the urge to hold a cup of tea and sip it because it comforts me. But if I can't do that, not because I'm physically unable but because I'm physically not..." She paused before asking, "Does that sound pleasant to you?"

"Are you saying that portraits are inhumane?" Hermione asked, wondering where this discussion was going. Was it purely philosophical? "Because people cast the charm themselves, they choose for themselves whether or not to become a portrait."

"Do any of them change their minds?"

Hermione felt her gaze slip back down to the pillows as she thought. Severus's moods. Was he depressed? Could portraits be depressed? She mentally shrugged. Why couldn't they? "Maybe?"

"I'm just worried that as your main friend happens to be dead and could quite likely become suicidal, I worry that he's not good for you."

"Do you want me to get rid of his portrait?" Hermione asked feeling a tad angry at the thought. Severus was her friend, why would the doctor want her to get rid of one of her closest friends?

"I know that there are spells to euthanise a portrait if they so choose, is that right?"

"Yes and I'm qualified to perform them."

"If he wanted to move beyond the veil and he asked you to help, would you?"

"No!" Hermione almost shouted. "That's, no! He's my friend, why would I want to help him commit portracide...?" she stopped and narrowed her eyes in thought. "I don't know if he... No, that's a lie. I know he knows there's a spell for it." She hung her head, had he asked in the past? It had been almost two years since she'd found his portrait. "He might have asked in the past but I probably told him no and I doubt he'd ask again."

The chime sounded for the end of their session. Grinstone smiled at her before offering her last bit of advice, "I know you care about all of your friends. Perhaps you could aim to spend a little more time with the living ones?"

Hermione's mind felt strangely blank as she nodded and let Grinstone usher her out of the office. Hermione said her goodbyes to the therapist and walked out of the building. Instead of Apparating home immediately she wandered around the streets thinking. So Grinstone thought Hermione was too dependent on someone who might be mentally unhealthy. Hermione sighed when she realised that was the case. Surround yourself with good people, people that lift you up and support you, that you, in turn, can lift and support. Surround yourself with friends.

Hermione didn't even break stride when the rain cloud above her broke open and drenched her. "Hey girly, wanna get out of the rain?" A rotund man called to her as she passed a seedy little pub. She'd wandered farther than she'd meant to. She couldn't seem to get her thoughts straight. She wanted to talk to Severus because he always seemed to be the one she could trust with things. With everything. Maybe she should reach out and talk to someone else. Would Harry really understand though?

Harry! It was his birthday! Hermione cursed in her head and she looked around, trying to find a good place to Disapparate. She had remembered it this morning and put his gift in her bag. She spotted an alley that ran behind a restaurant. She hurried down the alley, checked her surroundings one last time, and Disapparated to Grimmauld Place.

Ginny greeted her at the door. On the wall behind her, where Mrs Black's portrait used to hang was a painting of a woman that looked eerily similar to Mrs Black. "Oh, don't mind Gran, she's a lovely conversationalist and a wonderful watchdog."

"Sentry. Please don't refer to me as a dog, of any sort," the portrait said from the wall.

"Gran?" Hermione asked as she handed her coat to Ginny and cast a drying spell on her clothes.

"Gran Weasley. Dad's Mum," Ginny offered.

"Cedrella Black Weasley, how do you do?"

"Well, thank you," Hermione responded without thought. "I'm Hermione Granger, by the way." Then she turned back to Ginny, "Where'd you find her?" she asked as they walked towards the kitchen.

"Dad found her covered in a sheet and a status charm in the garage behind some junk after he finally decided he wanted to tidy the place up a bit."

"She hadn't gone mad?" Hermione asked, impressed that the portrait must have lasted years out there.

"Well... That's the thing. When Dad gave it to us she was completely still. He just thought that it was a painting of his mum and since she was born a Black then it seemed fitting to have her in the entryway of what was the Black house. It wasn't until we had it on the wall for a week or two that she started moving and talking. And she reminds me of Percy."

"Percy?" Hermione asked as they entered the kitchen.

"Hey Hermione," Harry said from in front of the cooker.

"Hey you. Happy Birthday," she went over hugged him without disturbing his cooking and then turned her attention back to Ginny.

"George and I think that Percy found her portrait when he was younger. George remembers more than I do, but Percy would go off on his own to play. We think he was actually getting lessons or just talking with her. You know how he acts," she smirked and tilted her head back, sticking her nose up in the air.

Hermione grinned and pulled Harry's gift out of her bag. She set it on the table and leaned her hip against the table to look around. In the three months since they started the renovations, Grimmauld Place had gone from gothic, haunted house to shabby chic. There were still hints to the house's elegant past, but everything seemed to have Ginny's unique touch to it. It definitely felt more like a home.

Ron came walking into the kitchen with wet hair and slightly pinked skin. Hermione hid her shock, she hadn't known that he was still living with Harry. She supposed they had the room. "Hermione!" He came over and hugged her tight and she hugged back, glad that there didn't seem to be any awkwardness between them. "So," he said, sounding nervous. He settled down in a chair near her and gestured to her to sit as well. When she had, he continued, "Well... Umm, Mum was over before Harry's wedding. You know, helping to clean up and stuff. Well, I'd got a letter..."

"Ron," Ginny said, rolling her eyes. The single word had him closing his mouth and looking up at his sister. "He's trying to ask if you'd accompany him to a wedding this weekend as his date."

Hermione's eyes narrowed in confusion. "How does Mrs Weasley feature into this story?"

Hermione heard Harry snicker behind her.

"Ron had opened his invitation but not done anything with the RSVP that was included. Mum was over, saw the invitation and—mind you, this was before our wedding—and asked him, and I quote, 'Are you going to the wedding, Ron?' and he assumed she was talking about ours and said of course, so she filled out the RSVP for two and owled it back."

"She's done stuff like that in the past, you know?" Ron said with a shrug, "Ask a question or start talking in the middle of a sentence and assume we know what she's talking about."

"Makes me think of Fred and George, they always seemed to be able to read each other's minds," Ginny said with a grin.

"So, whose wedding are we going to this weekend?" Hermione asked.

Harry choked down a snicker that was closer to a laugh before he called Ginny over to set the table.

Ron ducked his head, "Katie Bell and Oliver Wood..."

"Oh, that's not so—"

"And Marcus Flint!" Ginny yelled over Hermione.

"And... Marcus... Flint?" Hermione nibbled on her lip and looked between Ron and Ginny.

Ron nodded sheepishly, "Yeah. It's a triad wedding. Katie Bell, Oliver Wood, and Marcus Flint." Hermione blinked and added the strange feeling in the pit of her stomach to the list of things she wanted to talk to Severus about.

 *** . * . ***

 **Saturday, 4 August 2001**

Hermione wasn't feeling her best as she arrived via invitation-Portkey with Ron to the 'wedding of a century' as the press had called it. She'd dressed conservatively in tea-length robes of deep maroon and low heels. She reminded herself that this was just another wedding and that these people had been her housemates and friends of friends and she shouldn't feel anxious.

The guest list had been exclusive and there were no more than a dozen people at the destination, which happened to be a small hill in the Scottish Highlands. The weather was clear and warm, even though it was late in the evening, and the ground was covered in a lovely carpet of purple heather. There were no lights of any sort but the full moon was bright and lit the knoll well. On the crest of the hill was a circle of small, white stones.

There were no chairs. Hermione found it odd but stood next to Ron as the guests formed a loose circle around the top of the hill looking up. An elderly man that Hermione didn't recognise walked from the other side of the hill towards the circle. He stood outside of it and waited. Soon, she saw Marcus walk toward the circle. He was wearing an unbleached, linen shift that bared his knees and no shoes. He stood outside of the circle for a moment before the officiant called loud enough for the guests to hear.

"Who enters this circle from the north?"

"I am Marcus."

"Breach this sacred circle, Marcus, only if you bring home and security to the union."

He stepped into the circle. Oliver walked toward the circle from the opposite side and he too was wearing the linen shift.

"Who enters this circle from the south?"

"I am Oliver."

"Breach this sacred circle, Oliver, only if you bring passion and creativity to the union."

He stepped inside the circle. With the two men standing in the circle of stones, it was easy to see that it was bigger than Hermione had realised. They stood at the edge, just one step in and they would only be able to touch fingertips if they stretched.

Katie walked from behind her on her way to the circle. She was wearing that same linen shift, and this close, Hermione could see that the material was so thin she was sure she could see Katie's dark areolae or the shadow of pubic hair. Hermione hoped there wouldn't be a sudden breeze because all the guests would get an unexpected flash of skin from the bride.

"Who enters this circle from the west?"

"I am Katie."

"Breach this sacred circle, Katie, only if you bring emotion and spirit to this union."

She stepped forward twice and then Oliver and Marcus stepped forward so they were all within touching distance. They faced each other, not the officiant. "Marcus, do you vow to give your support to Oliver, that he may grow wise like the Ash?" the officiant asked.

"This I vow."

"And do you vow to give your seed to Katie, that she may bear your children and continue your line like the Elder?"

In the moonlight, Hermione could see Marcus offer Katie a lopsided grin. "This I vow."

"Oliver, do you vow to give your support to Marcus, that he may grow strong like the Oak?"

"This I vow."

"And do you vow to give your seed to Katie, that she may bear your children and protect them like the Rowan?"

"This I vow."

"Katie, do you vow to give your support and your womb to Marcus, that you may bear his children with resourcefulness like the Gorse?"

"This I vow," she said. Her voice wavered slightly like she was nervous.

"And do you vow to give your support and your womb to Oliver, that you may bear his children with discipline like the Blackthorn?"

"This I vow."

"Have you prepared for this union of body and spirit?" the officiant asked the three of them together.

"We have," the all answered in unison.

"Then let the gods of the sky, the gods of the sea, and the gods of the rock and field witness your marriage rite and rejoice," the officiant called loudly. He then stepped back from the circle to join the guests and then he sat on the ground. The others also sat and Hermione frowned even as she did as well. She watched as Oliver turned to Marcus and kissed him deeply even as he reached to his side and caressed Katie's waist. They broke their kiss, and Oliver turned to Katie. In one quick move, Marcus pulled Oliver's shift up exposing his erection and Oliver hoisted Katie up. She wrapped her legs around him and sank onto his cock.

Hermione's eyes went wide at first and then she turned her face away and closed her eyes, completely shocked at what she had witnessed.

Hermione felt heat on her ear first, followed by the quietest voice. "It's disrespectful to not watch, Hermione," Draco Malfoy said in her ear, "They invited you to witness their union. Open your eyes." She wasn't sure why she opened them—the comment about respect or the command—but she did.

Just in time to witness Marcus's cock slide home in Oliver's arse.

Hermione swallowed and forced herself not to turn her head away again, as the three shifted and Oliver collapsed to his knees, still cradling Katie to him. The guests and the night seemed absolutely silent and it made the sounds Oliver, Marcus, and Katie were making that much louder. Skin slapped against skin as both men thrust in a coordinated rhythm, Katie and Oliver moaned, and Marcus grunted. Marcus had wrapped one hand around Oliver's hip and the other was between Katie and Oliver. Hermione assumed he was touching her clit. Oliver was the first to toss his head back and groan his completion to the sky. Katie was whimpering and Oliver leaned down to kiss her, trapping Marcus's hand between them. The muscles in Marcus's arm bulged as he twisted his hand and then Katie shouted. Oliver did his best to swallow the sound. With his partners sated, Marcus leaned back and grabbed Oliver's hips, pounding into his arse with more ferocity than Hermione realised could be used with anal play before he too groaned his completion into Oliver's shoulder. The three were panting and grinning at one another, sharing private smiles that felt just as intimate as the act they'd just performed. One of the guests, or maybe the officiant, started clapping and Hermione offered her own applause, though she was confused and embarrassed. Katie, Marcus, and Oliver stood and straightened their clothes and hair, finger-combing it and sharing loving touches.

The guests started standing then and Hermione turned in time to see Ron, ears pink in the moonlight, walking towards another guest to begin talking with them. She frowned and before she could stand on her own, a long-fingered hand reached down in front of her. She looked up to see Draco smirking at her. She took his hand and he helped her up. She dusted herself off and looked around, unsure of protocol. Did they go congratulate the newlyweds now?

"Your eyebrows are scrunched and you look confused," Draco teased in a breathy whisper near her ear. "Let's walk away a bit so we can talk," he suggested. She looked around and noticed others were pairing off and wandering away. A few of the guests were sitting back down.

She nodded and he grabbed her hand to lead her along. When they'd crested to another knoll, far enough away that they couldn't see most of the other guests, he sat down and tugged her to follow. Once she was sitting, he laid down. His pale blonde hair looked white in the light of the moon and it contrasted with the tall violet heather around him. He patted the ground beside him and she complied.

When she was settled beside him he reached out and started rubbing the back of his fingers along hers. "Ask your questions," he told her.

"Why did we have to... er, witness their consummation?"

"So no one could dispute it later. It was obviously from the Wood family grimoire and some of the off-shoots of the Flint family that aren't in the line of succession might call into question the validity of the marriage and legitimacy of any children they have because neither Wood nor Bell are purebloods. I think much of the Flints' wealth is tied into entailed estates so those things are very important for them."

"Oh..." After a moment she asked another question, "Why did you insist we lay down?"

"The night sky is lovely to gaze at," he answered, his body shifting as he shrugged. She felt his shoulder brush hers. "And it's tradition and expected that couples would go and consummate their own relationships while the gods were still called upon to witness the rite."

"And you were expecting what, exactly?" Hermione answered, her voice frosty.

"Nothing. I just noticed Weasley, your date, wander off to talk with Wood's younger sister. I didn't want you to be alone."

"He wouldn't!" She said, feeling slightly shocked at the insinuation.

"Wouldn't he? Why didn't he stay with you?"

She turned to look at him and saw that he was watching her, his grey eyes luminous in the moonlight. She blinked, unsettled by his intensity and turned away again to answer. "We broke up a month ago."

"Ah," was all he said. His fingers moved their dance higher up her arm.

Hermione wanted to break the silence between them but didn't know what else to say. After a long moment, with only Draco's light touch against her arm the only thing to think about, he spoke again. "I'm glad it wasn't us."

"Glad what wasn't us?"

"The first triad in a century."

"It was never going to be us," she stated with more conviction than she felt.

"I think there was a chance. If things had gone differently," he said, sounding wistful. His fingers stopped moving, but he continued to touch her arm. "I learned my lesson, no half-measure proposals. Make it very obvious that I'm asking and my reasons why."

"What were your reasons?" She asked, turning to look at him again.

"For wanting to marry you?" he needlessly clarified. This time, he looked away, staring at the sky as he answered, "Originally it was Mother's idea."

She scoffed.

"No, no, don't get me wrong, if I hadn't liked the idea I wouldn't have gone through with it. Wouldn't have had the jewellery made or set up the situation to justify it. No, by then I'd decided that marrying you would be just the thing to spite all of my father's pureblood ideology. You were as close to my intellectual equal as I'd—"

"More like the other way around," she interrupted.

He looked back at her and chuckled. "Yeah." He just watched her for a moment before looking away again. "We were intellectually matched, we got on pretty well together when we tried. You challenged me. You were going to be marrying my best friend. I thought it was a good match. Now, I know that those aren't the best reasons to propose marriage. There's got to be more than that. Then... well, I didn't get another chance after... I didn't have a foothold in a relationship with you without Bass."

Hermione nodded and tilted her head, resting her cheek on the top of his shoulder.

"I... I'm sorry. For after, I mean. I never brought it up. I still don't really know what to say."

"Condolences. The same thing you say when someone else dies. Platitudes. Acknowledgement that she was someone I loved and lost."

"She?"

"The baby was a girl. I still have dreams about her sometime."

"I'm sorry," he said, and while the entire conversation had been quiet and sombre, those two words were the most sincere he'd said all night.

"Thank you," she answered.

They didn't speak after that. A while later Draco rolled slightly and kissed her on the forehead. He stood and helped her up and walked with her back towards the original knoll. He stopped just before the others that were mingling there noticed him and whispered, "Goodnight, Hermione," before apparating away with an almost silent _pop_.

"Oh, there you are," Ginny said as she turned around at the noise. "Thought you'd gone home already... or, umm, actually, Harry thought you were off with Ron, but Ron went that way," she pointed, "and you just came from over there, so I guess that wasn't the case. What did you think of the ceremony? Different, right?"

Hermione just grinned and let her talk.

 *** . * . ***

 **Sunday, 5 August 2001**

Hermione walked softly into her study and settled onto the chaise she normally did when she wanted to talk with Severus. He was doing that thing where he was perfectly still. After seeing his portrait move and talk, seeing it so still, so Muggle-like, almost gave her the creeps.

She stared up at him and let her mind wander, doing her own version of being still. Her thoughts took her to the odd feeling she'd felt when she had heard about Katie, Oliver, and Marcus getting married and on to the very awkward wedding they'd had.

She could have been a part of a triad. Polyandric, just like Katie. She hadn't wanted it at the time. Hadn't wanted anything to do with either man. Was the odd feeling in her chest jealousy? Over something that could have been, or might have been, had she not lost Ylva? Was it jealousy over the hype and fame they were generating being the first triad in a hundred fifty years and the first polyandric triad in over three hundred years? She wasn't sure why she might have been jealous. It was a useless emotion, especially over something so ridiculous.

"Did you expect conversation tonight, Hermione?" Severus's voice startled her out of her reverie.

She looked up at him, knowing that she'd give him what he wanted even if it hurt her to do it. "Are you happy, Severus?"

"I'm a portrait. I don't particularly have feelings."

"I think you do. You're spending more and more time in stillness. What is that? Cedrella Black apparently did that while she was in storage."

He frowned and looked away from her for a moment before answering. "I suppose it's what's left of my Occlumency. I retreat into what's left of my mind and close myself off. I believe the Black family teaches Occlumency to all of their children. Even the mutt had a basic education in it. It was Bellatrix that taught Draco."

Hermione nodded, understanding the connection. After another long moment of silence, she finally decided to be blunt. "Do you want to commit portracide?"

Her question seemed to startle him as he blinked a few times and paced the few steps he could within his frame. He turned to her after debating the question and nodded. "Yes. I would. I'm tired, Hermione, and I regret my decision to become a portrait." He took a deep breath before adding. "Not that I haven't enjoyed the time with you. What's it been? Two years?"

"A little less."

"Ah. Yes, living here in your home has been an interesting turn of events. Much better than being at Hogwarts or Merlin-forbid, near Potter for all this time. He would have pestered me into madness, I'm sure."

"I'll miss you," she said. So quietly she wasn't sure if he would hear her.

He looked down and offered her a rare little smile. "Don't cry, girl. You can still have my likeness if it means that much to you."

"I don't think I could stand it for a while. Just seeing you go still with the Occlumency gives me the creeps. I'd keep expecting you to say something. I might rehang your portrait after a year or so. You know, give me some time to come to terms with the fact that it won't move anymore."

"Will you tell Lucius, Narcissa, Draco, and Bass goodbye for me?"

"I'm—I'm not really on speaking terms with—"

"Draco, at the least. Please?"

"Next time I see him," she found herself agreeing. They sat in silence for several long minutes. She knew that there had been more that she wanted to discuss with him but couldn't think of it now. She was sure she would remember all of it in the next couple of weeks as she dealt with losing him from her life. "You're sure?"

"It's just helping me rest, Hermione."

"It feels more like euthanasia and you look fine. You're healthy, you've a sound mind. Not like Walburga Black. I didn't feel like this with her."

"You're not killing me, though. I'm already dead. I died from blood loss and venomous snake bites. You saw me die. All you're doing now is helping me rest."

"You never said anything about remembering what happened. I didn't think you knew."

"I knew."

"I'm sorry."

"You just have to shoulder blame that doesn't belong to you, don't you? Talk it out with your therapist!"

"I did! She's the one that brought up the humanity of portraiture and that I needed to connect with living, breathing people. She's a squib and she did research, advanced research, about portracide. We had a big debate about it all."

"I'd suggest trying to make those connections before you dissipate the Dark Magic but you already have them. Don't you talk with Miss Weasley, excuse me, Mrs Potter and Miss Lovegood."

"I haven't talked with Luna in years. We sort of lost touch after school. I've talked with Ginny and Harry lately, but not like I talk with you."

He looked down at her and huffed slightly. "Run crying to Potter after you dissipate the magic if you must. I'm sure he'd offer a shoulder to cry on. Though I don't understand why you'd cry about getting rid of me."

"You've become my best friend, Severus, and I'm essentially going to kill you!"

Things were quiet again. The grandfather clock down the hall struck the hour and chimed once. "Thank you, Hermione. You might have been a thorn in my side as my student but you've been a great conversationalist and housemate while I've been in your care."

She stood and pulled her wand from her sleeve, walking up to the portrait and touching the paint. "Thank you, Severus," she answered in return. She cast the spell.

 *** . * . ***

 **Tuesday, 20 November 2001**

Hermione had cried for two weeks. She had cancelled two of her sessions with Dr Grinstone and even taken a few days of vacation that she'd accrued. When she emerged after her self-imposed seclusion she decided to do something with herself and went to a salon. She had finally started liking her curls so she didn't want to cut them but she wanted something different. The stylist had seen this and suggested highlights. It was a good change. Something new and different but nothing too extreme.

The following months seem to slide past before she realised it and now it was late November and she was headed to see Dr Grinestone after a long but exciting day at work.

Maurier had told them all that he had spoken to one of the head administrators at St Mungo's and they were going to be co-hosts for the fifteenth annual Charity Gala that St Mungo's was hosting the Saturday before Christmas. He had given each of the women in his office their tasks and then pulled Hermione aside to let her know the extra duties he expected of her.

"Aside from taking care of the catering, your job is to make contacts. I want you to talk to as many people as you possibly can," he had said, grinning playfully at her. "Dance with everyone, but try to make it new people. Only one or two dances with your friends. The more people you make an amazing impression on, the more people will help you out later."

Hermione greeted the scheduling girl with a wave and a smile and only waited a minute or so before Dr Grinstone came out. "You're looking particularly happy today, Hermione," she said. "Why don't you come on back and share the good news?" They walked back to Grinstone's office and settled into their respective places. "So, what's new?"

Hermione talked all about the Gala and how she was in charge of catering and the ideas of what sorts of things she could include in the menu. Finally, Grinstone led the conversation elsewhere. "You're in such a good mood, and I don't want to bring you down, but I think there's something we should talk about."

"Like what?" Hermione asked. She picked up the throw pillow and played with the edge without much thought. It was just something to keep her hands busy.

"You've told me all about your relationship with Ron. You've broken down regarding the loss of Severus. You've told me all about the war and Harry. You've told me most of your life story. Now that all of that has been dealt with, do you think you feel comfortable enough with me to tell me what happened in the four months after the war?"

Hermione felt her smile fade, more in anticipation of the feelings she normally got when she thought about that time. Oddly enough though, the dark feelings didn't come. She swallowed and nodded. It took a moment to identify her thoughts and emotions regarding it, but when she did, she felt confident that she could get through the upcoming conversation without breaking down. There was still a sadness, and even a little nostalgia, but nothing like the pain that bringing up Ylva used to invoke. "Yes," she nodded, feeling her smile come back, "I think I can tell you about that now."


	23. Chapter 23

**Wednesday, 9 January 2002**

Hermione was just settling into her desk after lunch with her newest case file from Maurier. It seemed like a cut and dry sort of case. A wizard was charged with theft of several sets of jewellery, including two betrothal sets, trying to peddle them as authentic from an extinct family. The names were always redacted while she worked on the cases so she didn't know who she was preparing the defence for, but it sounded like something Mundungus Fletcher might have done. The hidden key fact of the case was that the jewellery was all fake. The family magic on the two sets was new and botched. Maurier had used her as a blind consultant on the jewellery, using her previous experience before coming to his conclusions about the case. Now that she was looking over their notes, she could see how Maurier would frame the case.

The fireplace flared green and Hermione looked up to see who was paying a visit to Attorn du Maurier. Draco Malfoy stepped from the fire and flicked his fingers at his robes, discreetly cleaning the ash from them. He looked up and saw her watching him and smirked at her. He nodded and walked on through the office. Hermione heard him confirm his appointment with Deborah and enter Maurier's office. She wondered what he could possibly need Maurier's services for. She tried to focus on the case in front of her but her mind kept wandering back to Draco.

He had looked very nice when she'd seen him at the Charity Gala last month. He had escorted his mother. It had been her first debut back into society after her three years of house arrest were over. Mrs Malfoy had been dressed in a lovely silver gown, classically styled and perfectly coiffed. Draco had worn dark green robes with amazing embroidery on the hem and sleeves.

Hermione had thought about approaching them to tell them what Severus had asked of her. To tell them goodbye, but she couldn't bring herself to do it. She would have had to explain how she had stolen the painting to begin with. The painting she still had in her study, with a dark blue curtain hanging in front of it.

When Draco stepped out of Maurier's office an hour later, Hermione didn't know what had happened to the time. Had she been daydreaming about the wizard for an entire hour? He was wearing more casual robes in black today and she tried not to watch as he walked through the room. He approached her desk and she tried to focus more intently on the paperwork before her.

"Hermione," he greeted her.

She looked up and swallowed, her gaze met his and she felt her breath hitch. Had his eyes always been so silver and intense? "Mr Malfoy?" she answered, proud that her voice was clear and confident.

He chuckled. "I... " he shook his head. "Please don't call me that."

"You're here on business, though; you're a client."

"Still. Just call me Draco. Actually," he said and he stepped around her desk to be closer to her. He leaned back against it and crossed his arms over his chest. "I was wondering if you'd like to go out with me."

"Out?"

"On a date, next Friday night. Dinner, maybe dancing. I didn't get a chance to dance with you at the gala last month and I'd like to rectify that."

"Oh," she felt a little dumbstruck. She hadn't dated anyone since Ron. She had thought about it, briefly, but had been too busy with other things than to try and put herself out there. A date might be fun even if it was with Draco. He was looking more fit that she remembered.

She must have looked lost or been quiet for too long because his suave look faltered. "I mean.. unless you don't want to..."

"No, I think I'd like that. Dinner and dancing. Next Friday."

His cocksure smile was back, but there was relief in his eyes. "Should I pick you up, or would you rather meet me there?"

"I'm not a fan of Side-Along-Apparition," she told him.

He scrunched his face up, "Me either," he said. "The place I had in mind is on the Muggle side of London, however. Meet me at the Leaky at eight? It's about a ten-minute walk from there."

Hermione smiled, relieved that he understood her dislike of Side-Along. "That sounds lovely."

His smile turned into a boyish grin. "Good. See you then," he said and then he leaned over and kissed her forehead. He stood and walked back to the Floo. He disappeared in a flash of green flames.

Hermione stared at the fireplace for another five minutes before Maurier stepped into her line of sight.

"Everything all right, Hermione?" He asked, a playful grin on his face.

"Yes, sir," she said, realising she had been daydreaming again. "Everything's fine."

"Good to hear it," Maurier said and before he turned away she could have sworn his eyes twinkled with mischief.

 *** . * . ***

 **Friday, 18 January 2002**

Hermione frowned at her wardrobe. She missed the banter that she and Severus had shared when she would get ready for a date with Ron. She really ought to reach out to Ginny. Ginny would surely enjoy helping her get ready, wouldn't she? Perhaps not for a date with Draco Malfoy.

Hermione didn't know if the Malfoy-Weasley feud still held. Draco had been a guest at Harry and Ginny's wedding though, so he couldn't still hate them too much. She just didn't know if Ginny and Harry had even realised he was there to be angry about it.

Not that it mattered. No, what mattered now was making sure she looked her best without looking desperate. She thought about wearing the same little black dress that she'd worn on her first date with Ron, but that felt wrong for some reason. Instead, she flicked through the other items she had pulled from her mother's wardrobe before she had donated the rest.

She was looking for black or grey, something tasteful, but in the very back, with tags still on it was a royal blue dress with floaty sleeves and a circle skirt that would probably skim above her knees. Something that would swing out and spin around her while she danced. It wasn't exactly what she had in mind, but decided to try it. Once it was on, she knew it was the right thing to wear. The fabric was slightly stretchy and it clung to her body flatteringly. She paired it with stockings and a pair of taller heels that had also been her mum's.

She used a bit of Sleekeazy's Hair Potion and did a half-up-half-down sort of thing with her hair. She touched up her makeup and made it more suitable for a night out look from her normal daily work look, and glanced at the clock. Ready with five minutes to spare. She made sure her wand was accessible but hidden, donned her coat but didn't fasten it, and locked up her house.

She Apparated to one of the corners of the Leaky Cauldron's yard and almost lost her balance before an arm reached out and wrapped around her waist. As soon as she was steady again she turned to both thank the stranger but demand they let go.

Draco was smiling down at her. Her jaw dropped. "How did you...?" She trailed off, not exactly sure what she was trying to ask.

"Years ago, we apparated to the Leaky for other reasons. We all tend to Apparate to the same place. I was reasonably sure you still used the pattern of the bricks in this corner for reference, so this is where I waited. Didn't expect you to fall into my arms as soon as you got here, though." He smirked and squeezed her tighter for a moment before letting go and stepping back. "Are you all right?"

She blinked a few times and looked around, patted down her body to make sure she still had her purse and her wand before finally looking back up at him. "Yes, I'm fine. Thank you for stopping me from falling over."

His smirk softened into a smile. "You're welcome. You look lovely. Is your dress new?"

Her eyes widened and she panicked slightly, "Oh Merlin, did I forget to take the tags off?"

His head tipped back as he laughed. "It was just a compliment, Hermione," he said. He stepped further back from her and looked her up and down, exaggerating the gesture with a leer and a raised eyebrow before stepping close to her once more. "You're fine. No tags." He offered his arm and she hooked it with hers without thought. "Are you ready for dinner, then?"

She nodded and he escorted her through the Wizarding pub and out into the Muggle street. The walk felt like it took much longer than ten minutes and she was starting to regret her choice of shoes before she got there. When he pointed out the sign of the restaurant, she sighed.

"Do your feet already hurt?" he teased before they went into the building.

She offered a guilty grin. "A little. I'm not used to the height... but you're so tall, I thought they'd be better to dance in."

"As long as you can dance without breaking an ankle." He slipped his wand into his hand between them and cast a spell at her feet. Instant relief on the pressure points had her breathing a little moan of pleasure.

"Thank you."

"Thank _you_. If you make little noises like that all night, I'm going to consider this date a success before it's even over." She chuckled.

He led her into the restaurant and they were seated immediately. The reserved table was in an out of the way nook, not completely isolated from the rest of the clientele, but away from a lot of foot traffic. They were still close enough to the wooden dance floor and the jazz band on a raised platform. The music was quiet and smooth, the perfect accompaniment to conversation. She assumed that if couples stepped out onto the dance floor, the band might start playing things a bit more lively for dancing.

Draco ordered wine for the both of them and they placed their orders. There was some pleasant small talk over the amuse. Draco asked after Harry and Ginny, she asked after his mother. When the first course arrived, Draco asked if she enjoyed her job. It wasn't until they were on the second course, a delicious tomato and mozzarella salad, that Draco subtly cleared his throat. When she didn't even pause to take a breath he said her name, "Hermione."

She registered the interruption and blinked, closing her mouth mid-word and asked, "Hmm?"

"When I asked if you liked your job, I didn't expect to get regaled with all of last year's case files."

She felt warmth creep up her face and settle on her ears and hoped the lighting was low enough that he didn't notice.

"This isn't supposed to be a business dinner. I want to get to know you better." He tilted his head and smiled at her. "What's going on in your life?"

"Work."

"That's it? When was the last time you went out? Or did something for fun?"

She fidgeted with the edge of her napkin on her lap and looked at the tabletop. "I went to the Charity Gala hosted by St Mungo's last month," she said, feeling both embarrassed and defensive.

"Last month. The last time you did anything for fun was the gala last month." He squinted his eyes in confusion for a moment before asking, "Didn't you network that event?"

Hermione reached up to push a few of her curls behind her ear, trying to cool her warmed face. "Well, yes, I did. Maurier said that's what he wanted me to do. I also handled the catering and dealt with the last minute details with the orchestra ensemble when Deborah owled me from the Spell Damage Ward because her six-year-old son's accidental magic turned him red and gave him horns and a tail."

"Networking is exhausting work on top of all the of her things you had to handle. I couldn't help but watch you because you seemed to dance with everyone. It was still work, though." Draco paused as the server retrieved their plates and delivered the main course. They both cut into their meal and there was a quiet moment before he smiled and said, "Let's do something extra fun, like..." he paused, thinking quickly, before seeming to blurt out the first thing that came to mind. "I don't know, rock climbing."

Hermione's brows raised. "Rock climbing?"

He smirked at her, and teased, "Worried you might break a nail?"

She pretended to be offended and scoffed. "Of course not."

His playfulness fell away for a moment as he remembered something. "You're scared of heights, aren't you? I should have remembered that."

"When would you have ever noticed something like that?"

"First-year flying lessons and the trip to Australia."

Hermione nodded but corrected him, "I'm not scared of heights. I'm scared of flying."

"Flying?" he asked, looking puzzled as he thought about it. After a small nod, he asked, "So the rock climbing is suitable?"

She couldn't seem to help thinking he'd gone mad. "Have you ever gone rock climbing?"

He shrugged. "No, but I'm sure they've got something for beginners." He took a bite of beef. "So, are you interested?"

"Are you planning our second date before we've even finished our first?"

He chuckled and the tops of his ears turned a light shade of pink. "I suppose I'm getting ahead of myself," he said. He swallowed at added, "Even if the rock climbing isn't a second date, do you think you'd be interested in trying it?"

She thought about it while she ate and finally nodded. "I think it might be fun actually. I think my gym has a rock wall."

He looked worried for a moment before the expression slid away. "You go to a gym?"

"Three times a week."

"You're going to beat me up, aren't you?"

She laughed. They finished their meal soon after and Draco stood and helped her stand. He escorted her out onto the wooden dance floor and the jazz band started something with a faster beat. Hermione was worried she would step on his feet because of her tall heels but he led her with grace around the floor. She laughed the first time he spun her and her dress flared dramatically and after that, he added so many spins that she almost got dizzy. The band noticed their amusement and incrementally sped up the tempo. By the end of the set, both she and Draco were flushed and breathless from laughing and from the exhaustive footwork to keep up with the music but her feet didn't hurt and she couldn't remember the last time she'd smiled so much.

Draco escorted her back to the Leaky Cauldron but before they parted ways in the yard he leaned down and kissed her cheek. "Thank you for giving me a chance, Hermione. I thoroughly enjoyed myself tonight."

"Me too," she said smiling.

"I know it's a little unorthodox, but I was wondering if you would Side-Along me to your house, so I could know where you live. If you don't want me to—"

Hermione interrupted him. "No, that's fine. Maybe another time we could order takeaway and watch the telly or something."

"You've got a telly?" He asked with an excited glint in his eyes.

"Uh-oh, you're not obsessed with them now, are you?" she teased.

"No, but I did find the one in our hotel in Australia rather fascinating. So I might take you up on that offer."

She sighed dramatically, not really minding at all that he was fascinated with the television. She probably would be as well if she'd never grown up around electricity. She grabbed his hand, "Ready?"

He nodded and she Apparated to her yard hidden by a lattice garden wall she had installed to give her extra privacy from her neighbours. She watched as he looked around the space, finding a point of reference so he could Apparate here on his own later. Once he was satisfied with the look around he grinned. "And now I can walk you to your door."

"Sneaky Slytherin."

He smiled and shrugged, tucking her arm around his and walking the few steps to her back door. He turned to face her at the stoop. "Goodnight, Hermione. Thank you for going out with me." She saw his gaze drop from her eyes to her lips and before she could make up her mind one way or the other he bent down and brushed his lips against hers in the lightest, briefest kiss she could imagine.

She smiled, confused at his behaviour, but told him goodnight as well. She unlocked the door and entered as he Disapparated. She sighed. What she wouldn't give to have a long talk with Severus at this point. Instead, she decided she would fire-call Ginny tomorrow to see if maybe she'd be interested in talking about Hermione's date night.

 *** . * . ***

 **Saturday, 19 January 2002**

Hermione woke at her usual time and padded into the kitchen to have her once-a-day cup of coffee. She knew it was a bad habit but it was one that she could live with having.

It was storming and she sat at her kitchen table and looked out the picture window over her yard, watching the rain patter the panes and listening to the occasional rumble of thunder. After she'd finished her coffee, she stood and stretched. She gave her mug a quick scrub and rinse and put it away.

She enjoyed the quiet moment of the day before deciding to ask Ginny over for lunch. Of course, that meant she would need to head out to purchase a few groceries to make something for lunch but that wouldn't be hard. She made her way back to her bedroom and dressed for the day. She grabbed her umbrella and stepped out of the house, intent to pick up a few things for lunch. She would save her full shopping trip for tomorrow.

The trip was uneventful and she had had a pleasant chat with the grocer. When she returned home, she turned on the telly for a bit of background noise and did a bit of cleaning around the house, both the magical and the Muggle way. Finally, it was about an hour before noon and Hermione fire-called Ginny.

"Ginny?"

The redhead stumbled into the room wearing an overly large button-front and socks looking groggy. "Yeah?"

"Did I wake you up?"

"Something like that," she grinned, pushing her fringe out of her eyes.

"Well, I won't keep you. I was curious if you'd like to come over for lunch. I had a date last night and I'd like to talk with you about it."

"Ooo! With who?"

"I'll only tell if you say you're coming over for lunch," Hermione said.

"It must be someone scandalous, then. Sure I'll come over. Just..."

Harry's voice could be heard faintly from the other room. "Ginny? You coming back?"

"Get back in there and please your husband, Mrs Potter," Hermione teased.

Ginny gave her a lopsided grin before darting back out of sight.

Hermione closed the connection definitely not wanting to hear them. She returned to the kitchen and started preparing the meal.

A while later the Floo activated and Ginny stepped through. "Hermione?"

"In the kitchen."

Ginny walked in wearing a button front in her own size and jeans. She came around the counter and gave Hermione a tight hug before hopping up on a corner of the counter and thumping her socked heels against the cupboard door.

"Did you not wear shoes?" Hermione asked.

"Left them by the fireplace. Well, who'd you go on a date with last night? Some rich, handsome bloke you met at work?"

Hermione couldn't help but chuckle. "Well, he's rich and handsome and he asked me out at the office, but I didn't meet him there, no."

"Oh no," Ginny said. "Tell me you didn't?"

Hermione felt her mood plummet at the accusation but tried to hide it. "Didn't what?"

"You didn't go out with your boss, did you, Hermione?"

Hermione laughed so hard she bent double and wrapped her arms around her stomach. "Gosh no, he's almost 80!"

"Oh, good. Well, who then?"

"Draco Malfoy," Hermione said, still chuckling.

Ginny froze and Hermione expected an admonishment was soon to follow, but then Ginny relaxed again and started to nod. "Yeah, okay. I can see how he fits the rich and handsome qualifiers. You really went out on a date with him though? After... You know, everything that happened?"

"Yes. We went out to dinner and dancing. We had a great time and I can't remember the last time I laughed that much. My face hurt by the end of the night because I was smiling so much. And we might be going rock climbing later."

"Rock climbing? Malfoy? Are you sure this is Malfoy? That sounds... unbelievable."

"It was a fine dining Muggle restaurant with a live jazz band. It was..." Hermione stopped and she stared off into space for a moment. "I had a lot of fun. And he kissed me!"

"On the first date?"

"It was a tiny, little peck, really, but it was still a kiss and he tricked me into letting him walk me home."

"Of course he did. The Slytherin."

Hermione nodded and picked up the two plates she'd prepared. "Come on, let's eat at the table."

Ginny jumped down, grabbed the two drinks she'd watch Hermione pour, and followed her into the dining room. They sat and started in on the meal. "So, a first date—with a kiss. And a second date lined up. With Draco Malfoy." Hermione wasn't sure if she sounded impressed or just shocked.

"Well, I don't know if the rock climbing will be a date or just a friends thing."

"Why wouldn't it be?"

"I don't know."

"Didn't you... I mean, aren't you attracted to him?"

"Yes."

"Then it's going to be a date," she said, waving her fork at Hermione. She had skewered a piece of spinach and it fluttered back and fork with her movement.

"I suppose... I mean, I don't know if he'll want—" The doorbell rang, interrupting her midword. She blinked. "Who could that possibly be?" She stood and slipped her wand into her hand before moving to answer the door. All she saw through the peephole was a bunch of flowers. She opened the door cautiously and felt her jaw drop at the bouquet of flowers in front of her and the man standing on her stoop holding them. "Draco?"

"Just wanted to tell you that I had a wonderful time last night and I hope that we can do it again sometime," he bit his lip and bounced the bouquet in his hands suggesting she take them.

"Who is it, Hermione?" Ginny called from the other room.

Draco tipped his head. "Date gossip?" he asked with a grin. "It's the topic of conversation, Weaselette-Potter!" he shouted into the house.

They heard laughter and a thump that Hermione assumed was Ginny falling out of her chair.

"Did you want to come in?" Hermione said.

"Nah. Just wanted to give you these and ask if I could fire-call you later to schedule a second date."

"Yes," she said without even pausing to think. As an afterthought she tacked on, "I'd like that."

"Good." He handed her the bouquet that she still hadn't taken from him and then nodded before he Disapparated.

Hermione stood in the doorway for a few more moments trying to relax her smile. She didn't need Ginny teasing her for smiling like she'd gone mad. She closed the door and walked back into the dining room.

"Oh wow, now that's a huge bouquet. And rather purple. There are some odd flowers there. I wonder what they mean?"

"Do you have a copy of the _Language of Flowers_ book that your Mum has?" Hermione asked.

"Pssh, like Harry would know where to buy flowers, much less know they're supposed to have secret meanings besides _I'm sorry_. But I can go grab it from the Burrow if you'd like?"

Hermione nodded still staring at the bouquet in her hands. It smelled wonderful and she closed her eyes, thinking about the man who'd given them to her. Could she really be contemplating a relationship with Draco Malfoy? With all of the tension and baggage between them and in their past?

It'd been almost four years since he'd proposed and she'd mocked him and over a year longer than that since he'd been a racist prick at school. She knew she had changed in that time and she knew that he had already been on the road to change then. She nodded to herself and sniffed the flowers again before she opened her eyes. She'd see where it went and hope her heart didn't get all tangled up if he hadn't really changed.

She trimmed the stems and put them in a vase and set it on the dining room table. Ginny came back into the room holding the book. "Got it. Now, this yellow thing—do you know what it is?"

"I know this one is called agrimony, but I don't know that one."

"Okay," Ginny said, looking up agrimony in the book. "Thankfulness. Huh." She looked back up and pointed out the darkest flower. "Those are pansies." She flipped through the pages. "Purple pansies mean _think of me_."

"Lavender and purple roses, next."

" _Enchantment_. He's enchanted with you, maybe?"

Hermione bounced her eyebrows. "I'd say that's a good thing, wouldn't you?"

"Definitely."

"Let's look at the little reference pictures for the rest," Hermione said. She pushed two chairs together and they sat down with the book on the table in front of them, flipping through comparing pictures.

Ginny pointed at one of the pictures and said, "Oh, this one is called periwinkle. _Early Friendship_. Aww."

Hermione felt heat creep up her face and turned the page. "Crocus Saffron means _mirth_. Well, we did have a lot of fun last night. He laughed about as much as I did."

"That other yellow flower looks like this one, oxeye. It means _patience_. Perhaps you looked like you wanted a longer snog and he's telling you to have patience?"

Hermione laughed. "Or he's being a gentleman and not expecting to progress to anything physical right away. And one more," she flipped the page a couple of times. "That one. Butterfly Orchid. _Gaiety_. More of those happy feelings, I guess."

"Maybe he's happy that you were happy?"

"Maybe," Hermione thought as she closed the book.

"Mum said to keep the book, by the way. She said a young woman that's being courted would need a book like that more than an old married woman like her."

"But your Dad gives her flowers! I've seen him!"

"Yeah, but it's always the same thing. Like Harry, he doesn't get into all the meanings and stuff. He just gives her apple blossoms and red roses all the time."

"Really?"

"Mmhmm," she answered then looked at her wrist and frowned, "I've got a meeting in Holyhead in about half an hour and I'm presenting my gameplay ideas, so I've got to go and make sure I've got my notes. Thanks for inviting me to lunch and to talk. We haven't talked in ages; I've missed you." Ginny reached over and hugged Hermione in her chair.

"Thank you for coming and I'm sorry for interrupting earlier."

"Oh, it'll do him good to wait every so often," she dismissed her with a wave of her hand before giggling. "Malfoy sounds like he's sincere. I think he'll be good for you, you know. You and Ron just... I don't know. Didn't. Does that make sense?"

"Yeah, I think so. We might have worked right out of school but that didn't happen. Thank you for being supportive of us, by the way. Both together and apart."

"He's my brother," she shrugged, "I love him but I've got a few others. You're my only sister."

Hermione smiled. "Thanks, Ginny. That means so much."

"Of course! Now I've got to get going. Love ya," she said, kissing Hermione on the top of the head before she dashed for the Floo. When the flash of the fire quieted, Hermione sagged in her chair. That had been fun and it had felt good to talk with Ginny. Easy. She'd have to have her over more often.


	24. Chapter 24

**Saturday, 2 February 2002**

Two days later, Draco had fire-called to settled the details about their next date. Hermione had mentioned her gym but Draco had outdone himself and found a private setting with a personal instructor.

It was now mid-morning on Saturday and Hermione dressed in her workout attire, Capri-length yoga pants, loose-fitting singlet, and sports bra. She also packed a bag of clean post-workout clothes if Draco decided to extend their time together. She Apparated to the designated location at the specific time. Draco was already there waiting and he greeted her a with a smile before coming to kiss her on the cheek. "How was your week?" he asked.

"Pleasant. Maurier is giving me a lighter schedule lately so I can start gathering information for my first solo advocacy in front of the Wizengamot in July."

"Do you know what you're going to aim for yet?" he asked as he turned and walked with her towards the looming rock wall in the distance.

"I want to start working towards getting werewolves equal rights."

Draco looked suitably impressed. "That's a tall order of business for a first case, don't you think? What sort of angle are you hoping to hook them with?" He paused and grinned, "Though, since my father's in Azkaban, I have grandfather's seat in the Wizengamot."

"Are you going to sabotage my efforts if you have insider information?" she asked.

He laughed and shook his head. "Nope, but I might try to influence others in my circle to vote for your bill."

"Whose ear would you have?"

"Well, Theo Nott can take up his father's seat. If she wanted to, Pansy could sit in her father's empty seat. I think Bones would be open to voting in your favour."

"Susan Bones has a seat in the Wizengamot?"

He nodded, "Yes, she went into Magical Law right out of Hogwarts. I think she intended to continue her late Aunt's legacy. Both Bones have been particularly fair and just regarding policies and criminals. She's hoping to get the Head seat later in her career."

"How do you know all that?" Hermione asked. They had come closer to the rock wall and she could see the personal instructor and someone else checking over the gear a few yards away.

He smirked. "What do you think I do for a living, Granger?"

Her mouth seemed to fall open before she closed it with a snap. "Umm, I don't... I don't know if I've actually given it much thought, really. I mean, I don't know exactly what your father did. I know he was on the Board of Governors for Hogwarts."

"Right. He was one of the Governors and he had a seat on the Wizengamot, but he never actually sat it. Mostly he just threw Malfoy money around. Whispered in the right ears and greased the right palms. I hold both positions, actively, and I also do some side work with the DMLE."

"What do you do for the DMLE? Do you work with Harry and Ron?"

He shook his head and smiled. "Can't tell you. Officially. Ask me again when we're alone. Let's get to climbing this thing, hmm?"

They turned to the instructor who seemed to have been waiting for that as his queue because he started going over the safety precautions and then the basic instructions regarding the wall. He introduced his partner, the shorter, stocky man with dirty blonde hair and a bushy beard who would be belaying for Hermione.

"Mr Malfoy here tells me you go to the gym regularly? Just out of curiosity, do you do any upper bodyweight lifting? That's one of the areas that women who first try out the rock climbing have some troubles with."

"I do bodyweight training one day a week," Hermione answered the buff man in front of her.

"Anything else?"

Her face soured, "I do cardio on Mondays and Yoga on Fridays."

The big man grinned at her, "What don't you like about that? You made that face," he teased, gesturing at her.

"I run on one of the treadmills but it's not my favourite thing." She turned slightly to Draco to mutter, "It always shorts out."

He nodded and she wondered if he understood.

"I'd prefer to do something else that doesn't require a machine that runs on electricity, but I'm not a big fan of running in the rain before work," she told the trainer.

"I was going to suggest swimming instead, but if you're worried about wet hair, then that's probably not the best option for you either." He was quiet for a moment while he thought before suggesting, "There's always cycling. The stationary bikes might have electronics to monitor speed, distance, and time but they aren't powered by electricity."

"Hmm, I'll have to try that."

After that, the instructor showed them how to put on the harnesses, using Hermione as the example. The straps were in awkward places and having the instructor's hands there tightening those straps made her feel both awkward and titillated. She kept sneaking glances at Draco to see if he was bothered by the man's proximity to her. If he was jealous he didn't show it.

The climbing started out easy. The hand holds and little ledges for her feet were spaced close together and were big enough that she didn't feel like she would slip. Draco climbed a bit faster and higher than she did until he started noticing the difficulty increase.

"Where am I supposed to hold on to now?" he muttered as he looked around at his options.

"I think there," Hermione tried to gesture with a nod of her head. He didn't see the hold she was suggesting and she let go to point at it. Doing so changed her balance just enough that she felt like she was going to tip backwards. Her breath caught and she gasped before she grabbed hold first of her safety rope, then the nodule she had been holding. When she had regained her balance she was panting.

"Hermione?" Draco said, staring at her with wide-eyed panic.

"You okay up there?" the instructor called. "I know it can feel like you're going to fall and hurt yourself but if you lose your balance Mike here will stop your fall. You won't hit the ground. You're okay."

She didn't answer.

Draco frowned and backtracked, slowly descending until he was level with her. "Hermione," he asked in a softer voice. "Are you all right?"

She took a deep breath before turn her head to look at him, letting a grin slide over her features. She giggled. "Yeah. I'm okay. Scared me a bit, though. I was torn between trying to grab the rope or the wall or pulling my wand to stop my momentum before I went splat."

He smiled. "I know the feeling." He looked back up to where he had been, about two yards from the top. "You want to keep going or are you done?"

She followed his line of sight, noticing she had close to five yards between her and the top. Then she tilted her head down to look at the ground between her breasts. She let out another held breath. "I think I'm done for now. Maybe we can try again some other time?"

"You enjoyed this?"

"Yes, I did. Did you?"

"I was thinking you were going to beat me to the top, actually. All that extra gym training. Quidditch is great for the core and thighs, but doesn't really do anything for upper body strength unless you're a beater."

She huffed a little laugh before calling out to her partner. "I want to come down."

The two men below chuckled at her but called up reminders of how she was supposed to put both hands on her rope and then sit back and walk down the wall with just her feet. When she was halfway down, she heard the instructor call up to Draco, "You too, mate?"

When they were both safely on the ground and free from their harnesses, they thanked the instructor and his partner and started walking back towards the Apparition point. Draco pulled out a pocket watch from his shorts and frowned. "That took longer than I expected."

"What's wrong?"

"I was going to take you out to lunch before parting from you. Unfortunately, we seemed to have climbed through lunch and I've got a meeting with my contact in DMLE in ten minutes."

A quick glance around showed that they were alone. "What is it you do? And who's your contact?"

"I'm an informant and Longbottom's my contact. Minister Shacklebolt thought we'd get on better than Potter or Weasley."

"Informant for what?"

He stopped walking and turned to her to talk more quietly. "When I first joined the Ministry, some of the older ministry workers came round expecting me to bribe them or pay them to vote a certain way. Expecting me to be like my father. It's slow going, because if word got out that I'm the snitch, then they wouldn't come back. We're trying to weed out the corrupt ones."

"How about the sleazy ones?"

He grinned. "Those are more delicate situations. It all takes a lot of time, but mum's the word. No one knows what I do except the Minister, me and Longbottom. And now you."

"You must really trust me to tell me something this secretive."

"Of course I do. And I know you well enough to know that you hate corruption and would fight against it to so you wouldn't do anything to interfere with what we're doing. Even if you saw or heard me making a deal with someone."

"If I'd have seen something like that I would have confronted you, probably even publicly, so I'm glad you decided to tell me."

He grinned and brought his hand up to touch her cheek. She smiled. "I know you would have and that would probably have tanked my career so I'm thankful you never saw it. Now, I've got to go. I hope you had a good time today."

"I did, thank you."

"Good," he smirked and then bent down and kissed her on the lips so quickly she couldn't respond before he Disapparated. She made a little grumpy sound when she realised she hadn't got a real kiss from him yet. She would just have to try harder next time.

 *** . * . ***

 **Saturday, 23 February 2002**

Valentine's day had come and gone, and Draco had not disappointed. He had surprised her with several hours in the equivalent of the Restricted Section of the Magical British Library. She hadn't even known it existed. He had sat with her reading his own selections, content to spend hours in silence. Hermione had absolutely loved the entire experience.

The following Friday after a quiet dinner by herself, Draco had fire-called her and asked if she had any plans for Saturday. She did have plans, errands in London, but had invited him along anyway.

She had just finished her breakfast when she heard a knock on the door. She opened the door and smiled at Draco. He was wearing dark wash jeans and a dark blue jumper and an overcoat, looking completely Muggle.

"Let me just grab my coat," she said and pulled it from the hook next to the door. She locked the door behind them. "You could have just met me at the Leaky, you know," she teased before Disapparating.

"Maybe I like picking you up for our dates," he said, having Apparated at the same time. They walked through the pub and out into the cold. "So what sort of errands are we running?" he asked as hooked her arm with his and escorted her down the pavement.

"Maurier has been doing some Muggle research and found that the new technology, mobile telephones, are shielded enough that solely being magical doesn't interfere with the electricity in them. He suggested I get one."

"We'll get two. What do they do?" She laughed but before she could explain he stopped her. "So it's a telephone, but it's mobile. It's not connected to the wall like a regular telephone?"

"No, but it will have to be charged by connecting it to the wall, I suppose. Depending on how expensive they are, I might get two for myself so I can run some experiments on it. I mean, we've got the Wireless that runs on magic and that's widespread enough to have a radio broadcast or two."

"Do you think it would be lucrative to be the first to introduce a magical variant into the Wizarding community?"

"If we're going to experiment with the charging feature, yes, probably. At the moment, Muggle-borns or half-bloods living in Muggle homes have the advantage because we still have electricity."

"That reminds me," he said as they strolled through the shops, "You said the electronic treadmill would short out when you're running on it, didn't you? Why do you think that is? I mean, you're not actively using magic around other electric things. Your cooker and your icebox run on electricity, don't they?"

"I don't know exactly, though I bet that would be an interesting thing to research. Do witches and wizards release more magic when they're exerting more energy? If a magical couple has vigorous sex in the kitchen, will it cause the fridge to lose power?"

He laughed and looked away, "Vigorous sex in the kitchen, hmm? Is that something you've got experience with?" He peeked down to see her reaction.

She smirked hoping it looked playful. They were quiet for a moment and when she glanced up at him, his ears were tinted pink. Just enough that it might have been from the cold or from embarrassment. Hermione silently hoped it was the latter.

She pointed, "There's the shop Maurier told me about."

"Great," he said and then cleared his throat.

They ventured into the small store and were immediately approached by a salesperson. They browsed and asked questions and despite a quiet disagreement between Hermione and Draco, Draco said he'd like to purchase three of them. When asked why three, Draco said one was going to be a business line and the other was for personal calls. The associate didn't question that explanation and sold them the three mobile phones. Though when asked for an address for the monthly bill, Draco's eyes bulged in momentary panic before Hermione came to the rescue and gave them hers.

As they left the store, Draco dialled her number and grinned when the one in her hand chimed loudly. Before she could tell him that she was standing right beside him, he ducked into an alley and Disapparated. She frowned as her mobile phone chimed again. She pressed the button. "Hello?"

"Well, it seems like it passed the Apparition test. Didn't short out or turn off or anything."

"Where did you go?"

"The Manor. Did you keep walking?"

"No, you running off shocked me." She heard a soft pop in the alley followed by a loud crackle in her ear so loud she jerked the mobile phone away from her head quickly. "Ow."

"Hermione?" Draco asked, stepping out of the alley looking her over, "You okay? What happened?"

"Did you hear a crackle?"

He shook his head.

"The sound of Disapparition seems to come through the phone. It crackled really loudly in my ear. Did it disconnect?"

Draco looked down at the phone in his hand. "No, it looks like it's still connected."

"I suppose we have a lot to experiment with if we're going to start a mobile phone shop on Diagon Alley."

"We?" He teased and pressed the button to end the call.

"Well you don't expect me to help with the research and not get paid for it, do you?"

He nodded. "I don't know about an entire shop. I was thinking maybe selling them through a third party. I've got too much else going on to run a full-end business."

"Weasleys Wizarding Wheezes then?"

"That's what I was thinking," Draco agreed. He slipped his mobile phone into his pocket. "So... What else are we doing in London today? And if we're still out at lunch, I've got a perfect little cafe in mind."

"Of course you do," Hermione said.

After lunch, Draco came back to Hermione's flat to relax in front of the telly. They didn't relax all that long before he had started gliding his fingertips across the skin of her arms. She snuggled closer to his side and soon his fingers had slipped under her shirt and he drew patterns on the skin of her stomach.

"Draco?" She said, her voice more breathy than she thought it ought to be with such little stimulation. "Are you actually watching the telly?" It was a quiet moment in the show, a poignant moment between friends or something. She'd stopped paying attention when his fingers started roaming.

He made a humming noise, indicating that he wasn't, before he brought his mouth down to the base of her neck to kiss. She shivered as his tongue darted between his teeth and licked her, the sensation sending chills up her back followed by goosebumps. She turned her head and met his mouth in a hot kiss that he dominated immediately. The angle was awkward so she pulled away from him and moved to straddle his lap. He didn't lose his pace or his touch on her skin as she moved. He brought his mouth back to hers when she'd settled. Draco moved away from her mouth to kiss down her jaw and her throat, leaving a wet path of saliva as he went. He pulled back just enough to blow lightly at the area and she shivered again as the area went from hot to cool. She rocked her hips tentatively against his and he groaned. He attached his mouth back to hers and reached up to tweak her nipples through her shirt and bra.

Right at that moment, a commercial came on the telly, the advertisement loud and the salesperson on the screen screaming to get his point across. It startled Hermione and without thinking, she flicked her hand towards the noise and cast a non-verbal silencing spell at it. The crackling, sizzling pop and bang that resulted from that had her out of Draco's lap, over the back of the sofa and her wand in hand before she realised what had happened. Draco had had a similar reaction, though he hadn't leapt behind the sofa.

"Merlin!" She said as she stared at what remained of her television. After the initial crackling and popping, the screen had cracked and something inside had started melting and bubbling into a mess, expanding and falling over itself almost like she'd seen a marshmallow do in the microwave when she was eight. The smell of burning plastic and smoke followed.

Draco's snort of suppressed amusement seemed to break the stalemate between the two wand-ready people and the destroyed television. Hermione's laughter followed soon after.

When Hermione finally got her breathing under control, she warned Draco between more sniggers. "Don't cast a Silencing Charm on your phones. I have an idea what sort of shielding is on them, but it's likely something like that might happen." After another few minutes, she asked, "What do we do with it?"

Draco shrugged. "Vanish it, I guess."

"No way, I'm not going to attempt another spell on it, it might catch on fire."

"Do you not remember the Water-Making Spell?"

"Of course I remember the spell. I just don't want my house to smell any more like smoke and burning plastic than it already does. Besides, most everything in the magical world is natural. Vanishing natural things back into non-being or everything seems normal. 'Dust-to-dust' and all that," she rambled, though she did notice Draco's brow scrunch at the reference. "My telly isn't made of natural things. It's primarily made of plastics which are man-made. Who knows what sort of anomaly I'd create if I vanished man-made plastic into non-being."

Draco looked unconvinced.

"What if, in vanishing it, the components become part of the air and got into the air we breathe, or into the wat—"

He flicked his wand at the television and non-verbally vanished it before she could finish her argument. "Draco!" she shouted and held her breath as she waited for the universe to cough up plastic back into her living room. He glanced back at her and gave her smug look.

"Just because I wasn't interested in watching that show didn't mean I meant for you to blow it up. I'll buy you a new one if you want to go back out."

She sighed and just shook her head. "Not today."

Draco glanced at the clock on the wall before leaning over and kissing her once more, lingering but not engaging. "I've got another meeting," he mumbled.

She poked out her bottom lip in a pretend pout and he chuckled. "I know, I know, but I think it'll be worth the wait in the long run."

"You mean you're cock-blocking yourself? Why?"

He grinned. "Worth the wait. I promise," before he dropped one more kiss on her lips and darted out her door to Disapparate.


	25. Chapter 25

**Friday, 3 May 2002**

Hermione had just returned home from work with the idea that she would be eating leftovers and enjoying a long, hot bath. Instead, when she stepped through the Floo she didn't get more than four steps into the next room when there was a knock on her door.

She wasn't expecting anyone. Ginny and Harry always firecalled first and Draco had taken to calling her mobile phone. She opened the door to see Draco standing on her stoop holding a bouquet of wildflowers in one hand and a bag of takeaway in the other and wearing a raincoat.

"Draco!" She greeted him and let him in the house, "What are...?" He handed her the flowers. "Thank you."

"I just thought I'd bring you dinner. I know Maurier's been working you a bit hard this week for his upcoming case and I thought you might like a night in, but I still wanted to spend time with you," he said, slipping off his shoes and his coat to leave at the door. "That's all right, isn't it?" He turned and walked backwards into the kitchen, watching her.

"Yes, that's fine. What did you bring for dinner?"

"Grinders from a little bistro in Brighton."

"What were you doing in Brighton?" She asked, following him and pulling dishes and napkins out of the cupboard.

"Something for Mother," he dismissed, waving his hand. He pulled the food from the bag and handed it to her to put on the plates.

"How is she?"

"Mother? She's fine." He opened the fridge to get the pitcher of water and poured two glasses. "Have you ever spoken to my mother?"

Hermione shrugged. "No, but she sent me a gift basket of vanity potions once."

"Really? When?"

"About a month or two after I started working at the Ministry," she answered, surprised that remembering the day she'd received the basket didn't make her uncomfortable. They were quiet for a few minutes while they ate and Hermione remembered a promise she made last year.

"So I have a confession to make," she said cautiously as they finished up their meal. He raised his eyebrows but didn't speak. "When I worked with the Dark Artefacts Agency and cleared Spinner's End, I stole something."

He huffed a laugh. "There were so many books, I would never have noticed."

"It wasn't a book."

"Well, it wasn't potions ingredients."

She took a deep breath. "I suppose I should show you," she said, standing. He followed, curiosity on his face. She led him to her study and the portrait covered with a curtain and pulled the curtain back for him to see.

"Snape," he breathed. "Why does he look so different?"

"Severus was twenty-five and the portrait was commissioned by your father. The clothes were a gift from him too," she said softly.

Confusion had replaced the curiosity. "How do you know that? Is he? Is the portrait in stasis? You called him Severus."

"His portrait was active from the time I took him from Spinner's End until last August when I drained the Dark Magic at his request."

He turned to look at her, "Drained the... What?"

"Portraits are created with a small amount of Dark Magic. To euthanise a portrait, you dispell the Dark Magic in it."

He turned and looked back at the still painting of Severus Snape. There was a long moment where she expected him to rage at her or at least shout. "He was tired?"

His peaceful response surprised her. "Yes and he made me promise to tell you and your parents and Rabastan goodbye for him and I said I'd tell you the next time I saw you but that was the gala at Christmas and I just couldn't do it then and I hadn't even remembered it until I thought about that gift basket and—"

He turned and wrapped his arms around her. "It's okay, Hermione." He leaned back and kissed her forehead. "Don't cry, sweetheart." He brushed his thumb along her cheek.

"He became my best friend and I helped kill him and then I kept it from you and—"

"Shhh. Hey, look at me, look," he tilted her head up to look at him. "I'm not angry. We all would have understood how tired he was. I mean, we saw how much shit he went through as Voldemort's right hand. We didn't even know he was a spy until after everything went down and Potter said it. I don't blame him for being tired. I'd say you probably got to know him better than anyone else ever did because in death he was free to be himself not beholden to any master." He kissed her then, thoroughly snogged her despite the slow drip of tears that mingled with their mouths and made him taste salty.

"I'm sorry," she finally said when he pulled away.

"It's the first time you unveiled him since you did it, isn't it?" He kept his hands on her cheeks and she nodded. "Why don't we head back out to the sitting room. I have a question for you." He reached down and slipped her hand into his and led her back down the hall. He sat on the sofa and pulled her down next to him with enough space that he could turn to face her. "Are you okay now?"

She took a deep breath and wiped the tears from her cheeks. "Yes, sorry."

"Right," he frowned and looked away for a moment, "I wasn't expecting you to be upset."

"Umm... what was your question? Not... Not," she shook her head and reached up to touch her neck, an echo of memory flitting over her.

His eyes widened as he watched her. "No, no, I wasn't proposing. No. Maybe in a few years, if we're still together." He grinned, "No, I was going to ask you if you'd be exclusive with me."

Hermione's nerves evaporated and were replaced with a different sort of anxiety. "Have you not been exclusive with me?"

"I have. I've not even looked at another woman since I asked you out in January. What I'm asking, I suppose, is something between dating and being engaged. More commitment."

"Oh," she said, giving herself time to think. He didn't rush her, he just watched her quietly. "Yes, I'll..." she didn't know what to say.

His expression changed into a bright smile. "Good," was all he said as he leaned in and snogged her again. He didn't pull away like he had in the past. This time he lingered, letting his hands come up to her waist and slowly slide up to palm her breasts. She moaned a little.

"No more waiting," she murmured as his lips parted from hers and started down her jaw.

"No more waiting," he confirmed in a whisper. He brought his mouth back to hers and squeezed a bit harder at her breasts before bringing his hands down and back up under her shirt. He tweaked her nipples, pinching and rolling the sensitive flesh between his fingers through her bra. He reached around her and unsnapped her bra with one hand and leaned back enough to drag her shirt up and over her head.

"Bed," she demanded even as her mouth fell open and she leaned towards him, desperate for another taste of him. He obliged and grabbed her hand. She stood, wobbly, and he followed, kisses and touches making her forget her own name. Somehow they'd made it to her bedroom, losing one article of clothing after another in the hall. When they got to her door, he backed her against it. She gasped at the cool wood and the hardness of the door before a second gasp slipped from her lips as he ground his own hardness into her.

Hermione had been so lost in his touch and in his distracting kisses that she didn't even see when he had undressed. Draco rocked his hips against her and then stooped a bit more to reach under her bum, pulling her legs up to wrap around his waist. The skin of his cock seemed to burn her wherever it touched but when he rocked her against the door she could have sworn the heat between them turned to flames.

"Please, Draco, please," she begged without thought, feeling the head of his cock slide and bump against her clit repeatedly.

"Yes," he muttered. He tightened his grip on her and pulled her from the door, turned and walked the few steps to the bed before dropping onto it. He didn't loosen his grip on her until they were both on the bed. He reached between them and slid his fingers into her. The intrusion after so long was immensely pleasurable and somewhere in the dredges of her mind, she wondered why she'd never thought to put anything inside of her when she diddled herself. The thought was gone almost as soon as she'd had it and her hips pushed up into his hand eagerly.

When he finally pulled his fingers away and replaced them with his cock, her breath caught. He pulled back from his kisses to watch her face as he entered her like he was worried why she'd stopped breathing. He slid all the way home in one slow, sweet motion and then waited for her to gasp and begin breathing again. He smiled and returned his mouth to hers.

His rhythm wasn't hurried and every move felt planned. After a few minutes, he'd pulled away enough to roll them over so she was in control. He was flat on his back but he brought his knees up, forcing her to change her angle enough that her clit would slide against his pubic bone. Hermione's movements were more erratic. She tried to push thoughts from her mind, thoughts reminding her of the last time she'd been on top and in control. Instead of panic and fear and confusion, now, years later, she felt empowered and feminine and sexy. Even though Draco had taken some of her leverage when he'd raised his knees, he'd given her the position to bring herself off so she worked towards that goal.

She slid and wiggled and rocked as he thrust into her, touching her everywhere until they were covered with sweat and she could feel her orgasm just out of reach. She had grown overheated and tired though and was on the verge of giving up. "Draco," she muttered, thinking that she'd just tell him to get on top.

"You haven't come yet," he said as if he knew what she was thinking.

"I can always touch myself after..."

"Not while my fingers and tongue still work," he told her. He grabbed tight to her hips and flipped them over. He almost slipped out of her because their skin was so slick with sweat. "You're going to come, Hermione. I've wanted this for too damn long for you to not come." Then he moved down her body, taking his prick from her and leaving her feeling empty.

His mouth latched onto her cunt without hesitation and his fingers danced along her thighs. She did feel better now that they weren't touching so much. The cool air in the room made her nipples peak again. Draco's fingers reached up and he pinched them and his tongue did wicked things to the overly sensitive flesh at the apex of her thighs. He progressively got closer and closer to her clit before his entire focus was on it and he sucked on it rhythmically, tapping it with his tongue every few seconds. Cunnilingus was such a novel experience for her that she wasn't sure his dedicated mouth would, or could, bring her off. He squeezed her nipples and tapped her clit and suddenly she was coming. Her hips jerked up into his face and he continued to suck on her clit, harder now than before. Before her vision cleared or her body stopped throbbing he had moved over her and filled her once more. Feeling him fill her up again had her spasming around him again.

He pounded into her but it didn't hurt at all. She raised her legs to wrap around his waist. The throbbing from her orgasm hadn't seemed to slow as he sped to his own end. Every part of her body was on fire and satiated. His hips jerked and he groaned, dropping his mouth to her shoulder to bite gently. Her eyelids started to droop almost as soon as he'd pulled from her and collapsed beside her. "I'd snuggle but it's hot," he muttered seemingly falling asleep as quickly as she was.

She woke briefly to feel him tugging the duvet out from under them sometime later after the sweat had dried and their overheated bodies had cooled. "Draco," was all she could say before she slipped back into pleasant dreams.

 *** . * . ***

When Hermione woke up in the morning, the space where Draco had slept was empty. Her heart dropped to her stomach. Had the sex been that bad? Did she snore too loudly? With an odd feeling of disappointment, she got up to use the bathroom and then came back to dress.

She pulled open a drawer in her dresser but then she heard her back door open. She spun to grab her wand from the bedside table when the door of her bedroom opened slowly. She held the spell on her tongue before casting and she was glad she waited because it was Draco, holding a tray with food and a flower on it.

"Oh, you're awake," he said, frowning, "I was hoping to get back before you got out of bed." When she didn't move he gestured with a nod, "Well, get back in so I can give you breakfast!"

The disappointment in her chest fizzled. "You made breakfast?" she asked as she strolled back to the bed, still naked, to crawl back in.

He pretended to pout. "No, I admit that I'm not so sure how to use your cooker and I didn't think you'd want me to blow it up by accident to try and cook on it. So I went and got you breakfast, instead."

"Where did you go?"

He set the tray on her lap and glanced toward his side of the bed. "The Manor."

"You returned to Malfoy Manor to cook breakfast?" She asked as she looked over the lovely spread. There was a small cup of fruit parfait, bacon an eggs, two pieces of toast, and even a glass of juice. A single rose with white and red petals was also on the tray.

Draco kicked off his shoes and slid into the bed on his side. "I returned to the Manor to get fresh clothes, get the flower from the gardens, and beg breakfast from our kitchen elf."

"Oh," she nibbled on the toast. "Can you cook, though? On a non-electric cooker?" She handed him the second piece of toast and he took it with a grin.

"I can do some basic things."

It was quiet as they ate. Hermione fed Draco fruit from her parfait but wasn't sure how to share the bacon and eggs but he just shook his head to say he didn't want any.

"We should probably talk about last night," he said after she'd finished the delicious breakfast and floated the tray over to her dressing table.

She experienced a sudden wave of nausea and dread. Her mind raced and she lowered her head. "You're going to say you've changed your mind because the sex was bad, aren't you?"

"Bad? You think it was bad?" He didn't sound angry, though, just curious.

"Well, I had trouble... You know," she muttered, refusing to look at him.

"Not all women orgasm from penetrative sex, Hermione, and I don't expect mind-blowing sex right out of the gate. There's this saying I think you might have heard, practice makes perfect?" he said, reaching over and tipping her chin up so she'd look at him. "I think I'd love to practice with you until you feel like you've perfect the art. Even if you have orgasmed during penetrative sex before that doesn't mean it will happen every time, either. I'm quite angry with myself actually. I didn't ask if you were on a contraceptive potion last night. I didn't cast the spell or use condoms or anything."

Hermione felt a little under-informed in the light of Draco's honesty. "Who knew you'd be so open and knowledgeable about sex? I didn't even think wizards knew what condoms were but yes, I take a contraceptive potion monthly because it keeps my cycle regular."

He ducked his head, "After we came home from Hogwarts I briefly dated a Muggle girl attending university. When I her told I didn't want to wear a condom, because at the time I didn't know what one was, she proceeded to ruin the mood by giving me an impromptu sex education lesson. She refused point-blank to have sex with me if I were to remain ignorant or disregard her rules on safety."

Hermione couldn't help herself and giggled. He looked up and caught her gaze, chuckling too.

"So now I know all sorts of things I would not have known otherwise. She even insisted I was tested for venereal diseases. I went to Flourish and Blotts and looked into them in case wizards could catch something different."

"And the results?"

"Wizards and witches can catch Muggle diseases but I'm clean. I've even gone back to get tested after we broke up."

"Sleep around often, do you?" She said, joking.

He shook his head. "Not an outrageous amount. I've had a few casual encounters most of which have been Muggles because my name and my reputation precedes me in the Wizarding world."

Her eyes dropped to his left arm where he tapped his forearm. She knew what was under his sleeve. An ugly mark that looked like a burn scar. Hermione had seen it before. They were quiet for a long moment and Hermione felt him shift on the bed.

"And you?"

She looked back up and blinked at him. "Me what?"

"Have you... You know, slept with a lot of different partners?"

She swallowed and glanced away, feeling nervous suddenly. She tugged on the sheet to cover more of her chest. "Rabastan and Ron."

"And me."

She looked up at him just to roll her eyes. "And you."

He grinned and kissed her playfully, taking her off guard. After a long snog, he muttered against her lips. "Feel like practising with me?" She could feel the smirk form on his lips before she initiated the next kiss and pushed at his shoulder. He leaned back with little hesitation and let her take the lead.


	26. Chapter 26

**Monday, 1 July 2002**

The next five months seem to fly past Hermione in a whirlwind of change. Later in May, Hermione left Attorn du Maurier, her apprenticeship finished. The first week of June, Draco insisted they go on a week-long holiday in celebration—both the completion of her apprenticeship as well as his twenty-second birthday. They went to the French coast and spent the time lounging on the beaches and sampling the fine dining of the region. Despite the obscene amount of galleons that he must have spent, Hermione had a wonderful time and they returned with a golden hue to their skin and natural highlights in their hair.

Hermione spent the rest of June with her nose in a book and a quill permanently attached to her hand as she gathered evidence and wrote and rewrote her speech. Draco didn't try to distract her while she worked, but made sure that she relaxed every evening. He spent the night more often than not but never brought extra clothes, choosing instead to Floo home to the Manor to change.

As the day approached, Hermione was terrified that she was going to mess up her first advocacy case. She had let Draco buy her tailored, expensive robes that were designed by a famous Italian wizard. Draco had coordinated with his friends and had even reached out to her friends so that the audience chamber would be packed.

Now that the day was upon them, Hermione paced in the antechamber and tried to calm her breathing. There was a knock on the door and she held her breath, worried about who might be there and almost hoping that the Wizengamot would end the session early so she wouldn't have to stand in front of them. Maurier walked in instead.

He took one look at her and tsked. "Hermione Granger, you need to take a moment to breathe." He walked up to her and held her still by gently resting his large liver-spotted hands on her shoulders. He looked even frailer since she'd seen him a month ago. He had always been skinny but now he looked almost skeletal.

"Are you all right, Mr Maurier?"

"Léon, to you. You're no longer my apprentice, you're my equal and my replacement. Now, three deep breaths, and I want you to tell me in one sentence what you're going to accomplish today."

Hermione did as she was told, inhaling until she felt like she would burst and exhaling until she was sure she'd collapsed her lungs. Three times and then she looked him in the eye. "I hope—"

"Nah-eh," he interrupted. "Tell me what you _will_ accomplish today."

She grinned. "I'm going to get werewolves equal rights."

"Yes, you are. Do you have your notes?" She slipped a few note cards from the sewn-in pocket in her left sleeve. "Good. You have them, but I know you won't need them. You're ready. Let's go out there and wow those old wankers in the Wizengamot," he teased.

She giggled at his language, but straightened up and hooked her arm around his and let him escort her into courtroom ten.

Léon introduced her and then climbed the first steps into the audience seating. She turned around and looked out over the crowds—spotting Harry and most of the Weasleys. She saw Katie, Oliver, and Marcus. Minerva McGonagall and a few staff members from Hogwarts. And right in her corner, in the front row Narcissa Malfoy. Afterwards, no matter the outcome, Draco had planned a congratulatory lunch with their friends and a private dinner with Narcissa. He had promised that it would not be at Malfoy Manor.

She looked back up at the Wizengamot and if she'd been any closer she would have a crick in her neck from peering up at them. Her eyes travelled over each face, many of them old, wrinkled, and unfamiliar and yet there were faces in the group that she recognised. She saw Draco and Susan, Theo Nott, Pansy Parkinson and Neville Longbottom who had taken the seat from his grandmother who had only been holding it in trust. Hermione took a deep breath and started her prepared speech.

 *** . * . ***

When she looked back on the day of her first advocacy case, Hermione had trouble remembering just what she had said. She did remember that there had been an extensive inquisition and that she'd only floundered once or twice. She remembered the elation she felt when the gavel came down but she was honestly not sure the exact wording of the verdict. She knew that she hadn't gained werewolves completely equal rights to wizards, but she'd definitely made a giant step in the right direction.

Lunch had been at a noisy pub and Hermione didn't remember who was there because she had still been riding the high of winning a case in the Wizengamot. She had come down by dinner time with Narcissa.

"I was thinking we could travel to Mum's new property by Floo," Draco said as he leaned against the door frame of her room while she put the finishing touches on her makeup.

"New property?" Hermione said without looking over her shoulder.

"In Brighton. You'll never have to ever step foot into Malfoy Manor again."

"She didn't buy property just because of me, did she?" she turned to look at him.

He looked like he was choosing his words carefully, "Not solely for you, no."

She scrunched her eyebrows together before shrugging. He would tell her if it were important. "You still live at the Manor, though, right?"

He nodded and stood, stepping further into the room. "Yes, we still both live at the Manor." She stood and he reached out for her hand. "You look splendid."

She grinned. "I'm nervous."

He chuckled. "You shouldn't be, you faced down the Wizengamot this morning. You can do absolutely anything now."

"I didn't get as much as I wanted for werewolves," she frowned and they walked towards the fireplace as they talked.

"You got the Wizengamot to retract every bit of Umbridge's anti-werewolf legislation and reopen the Werewolf Support Services. So now those inflicted with Lycanthropy can find work and go to the Ministry or St Mungo's to transform on full moons if they have no secure place for themselves."

"It's a start, I suppose. I want the Registry to be discontinued or at least increase the privacy to only those just within the Department for the Regulation and Control of Magical Creatures. And I want the Wolfsbane Potion to be free and accessible to all."

"You've planted the seeds for those. It doesn't make sense to restrict access to the Register from the DMLE and the Potion is fiddly and expensive. What needs to happen next is starting a charity foundation to raise money and register with the Ministry so they can argue about how much funding it will receive the next time they do the budget. And much of that is new, you know. Up until the early nineties, the Ministry was still funded solely by donations. Tax collection was unheard of. The whole thing will take some time." He grabbed a pinch of Floo powder and tossed it into the grate. "Malfoy Cottage!"

Hermione followed and stepped out of the fireplace into a cosy, well-decorated sitting room. Narcissa was standing there with a smile on her face. "Welcome to Malfoy Cottage, Miss Granger."

"Hello, Mrs Malfoy."

Draco surprised Hermione when he walked over and hugged his mother. "Did everything turn out okay?" he asked quietly.

"I'm not hopeless, Draco," Narcissa answered.

"I know," he muttered. He reached out and grabbed Hermione's hand but Narcissa eyed the action. Hermione made to pull away completely but Draco grabbed her hand and slipped it into the crook of his elbow. Narcissa led the way into the dining room.

Dinner was a simple lasagne Florentine that was already on the table. Draco opened the wine and poured the glasses. They served themselves from the dish in the centre of the table. The first few minutes were quiet as they tucked into the dinner. Hermione noticed how nervous Narcissa seemed, and even how Draco was quieter than usual. "Everything is delicious, Mrs Malfoy," she said.

Narcissa tipped her head and smiled almost shyly. "Thank you."

Draco finally broke the silence. "Mum has been expanding her potions skills into the kitchen. Had to tell Nomi, our kitchen elf, that she was not allowed in this kitchen. She was very unhappy because the other elves are still allowed to come here to clean."

Hermione smiled. Conversation ebbed and flowed around various topics, but it wasn't until Narcissa brought out the dessert that anything of true weight was said.

"Draco rarely stays the night at home any longer, I've noticed," Narcissa said, watching Draco from under her lashes.

He responded by taking a larger-than-necessary bite of tiramisu. Hermione was almost sure he flushed just the slightest bit pink, as well.

Hermione didn't know what to say either but instead just watched Draco. When the silence lasted long enough to be uncomfortable, Narcissa giggled.

She looked at Hermione. "Really now, you're not children anymore. I was just teasing you. As long as your both happy," she turned to pin Draco with a different sort of look, "and taking precautions."

This time, Draco did turn a light pink. "We are."

"Well, now that that's settled. I'd like to make you an offer, Miss Granger. I'd like to make the first donation to your new Lycanthropy Foundation. I'll donate the first fifty-thousand galleons and an offer to brew the Wolfsbane potion for the next six months without pay."

Hermione's jaw dropped. "Fifty-thousand?" she repeated.

"Yes, unless you don't think that's enough?" Narcissa said, smiling and looking innocent.

Hermione blinked a few times and closed her mouth, Draco sniggered and Hermione turned to look at him. "You... You knew?"

Draco's sniggers turned into a full out laugh. "Of course, I knew but seeing you so speechless was a pleasant bonus."

She looked back at the other woman. "I... I don't know what to say. I mean, thank you, of course, but... I don't even know how to go about creating a charity fund or..."

"Draco will help you. The biggest problem is finding permanent, qualified potioneers to brew the Wolfsbane Potion. Part of the fund will go to the ingredients to brew in large quantities, of course, but it will also be needed to pay a potioneer and a team of equally talented assistants since it requires seven days of brewing each month."

Hermione nodded, her hand twitching because she wanted to take notes. "Do you have any suggestions or references?"

Narcissa frowned. "As much as I liked Severus Snape, he didn't do Britain any favours by being so strict with his NEWTs requirements. I'm afraid there haven't been many NEWT-qualified potioneers to come out of Hogwarts in the last two decades. You'll probably need to outsource to Durmstrang or Beauxbatons. Using your connections at Hogwarts—"

"She means since you were McGonagall's favourite student."

Narcissa shot Draco a look for interrupting before continuing, "Yes, speaking with Minerva McGonagall and using her to parley with the other schools' Heads to incentivise students to immigrate for potions careers might be the best option."

"Let's talk details later, Mother. Are your evening flowers blooming tonight?"

Narcissa sighed and glanced at her delicate wristwatch. "Yes, Draco, the night garden should be blooming by now."

"Then let's go see!" He grinned and stood. Though he seemed to be twitching with impatience he slowed enough to offer his arm to Hermione to escort her out.

"I didn't know you were so passionate about flowers," Hermione said as all three of them headed out into the warm night air.

"Draco, have you not been bringing Miss Granger flowers like you should?" Narcissa scolded lightly.

"I have too!"

"He has brought me flowers," she said, not wanting Draco to be in trouble with his mother.

"Mum's two favourite subjects were Herbology and Potions."

"Potions was yours, right?" she asked him.

"Yeah, at least when Snape taught it. Slughorn was a pompous arse."

"Draco," Narcissa said, though Hermione wasn't sure if the scolding tone was more to do with his language or with his assessment of Professor Slughorn.

"What was your favourite subject, Miss Granger?"

"Arithmancy and Transfiguration."

They walked around a garden wall and Hermione felt her mouth fall open again. The night garden was magical. There were fairy lights and even glowing lamps that resembled the moon to encourage the flowers to bloom. The whole space was bursting with colour and texture.

"It's beautiful," she murmured.

Narcissa smiled. "Thank you," she said softly. They spent the next quarter of an hour strolling through the meandering space with Narcissa and Draco taking turns talking about each of the plants.

"I had a wonderful time, thank you," Hermione told her hostess when it was time to leave.

"I'm glad. I enjoyed the company," she pretended to glare in Draco's direction. "Sometimes I think he's punishing me by staying away. I know that's not true, of course, he's just grown up so fast." She pursed her lips and hummed in thought, but didn't give voice to it. "Please feel free to visit whenever you'd like. I've been spending a lot of my time here. Getting out of the Manor for a while, you know." Hermione nodded, understanding the reference to her previous house arrest.

Draco told his mother goodnight, hugging her and kissing her cheek. He turned and addressed Hermione, "Ready to Floo home?"


	27. Chapter 27

**Tuesday, 27 August 2002**

Hermione settled down onto her usual spot on the sofa in Dr Grinstone's office. They had slowed their appointments down to once a month unless Hermione had a stressful case. It had been almost two months since her Lycanthropy case before the Wizengamot and she had handled three smaller cases in that time. She had worked for free for two Muggle-borns charged with violating the Decree for the Reasonable Restriction of Underage Sorcery. In her third case, Hermione represented a prospective buyer of the former Fortescue's Ice Cream Parlour which had sat empty for years against several of the shop owners in the area that didn't want the building renovated or reopened. She had mostly worked from home and when she needed to speak with her clients she had met them in restaurants with private rooms for privacy.

Dr Grinstone came into the room pushing a tea trolley.

"Oh, what's the occasion?" Hermione asked, offering her therapist a smile.

Grinstone didn't return the smile. Instead, she swallowed audibly and went about making tea, only speaking to ask how Hermione took her tea. When that task was done, she sat down holding her own teacup.

"What's wrong, Dr Grinstone?"

The therapist looked up from where she was staring at the wall. "What? Oh, Hermione please call me Celeste. We're in a partnership here and I hope you think of me as a friend."

"Then what's wrong, Celeste?" Hermione repeated her question.

Celeste inhaled deeply and set her teacup back down without taking a sip. "Léon Maurier died early this morning."

"No..." Hermione denied in a whisper.

"Unfortunately, yes. Léon passed. He had been sick for a long time, Hermione. He had an episode at the end of June, right before your advocacy case and been on healer-ordered bedrest since then."

"Oh." She didn't know what to say. Celeste had become a source of strength for her and now she looked so lost. Hermione didn't know what to do for her.

After a few moments, Celeste took another deep breath and reinitiated the conversation. "I'm sorry. I normally would have cancelled all of my appointments but you knew Léon as well and I wasn't sure if you would have been informed. Did you have anything you wanted to talk about today?"

Hermione shrugged. "I wanted to ask your opinion regarding asking my boyfriend to move in with me."

Celeste smiled. "You've thought things through already?"

"We've been dating since January," Hermione said, "So about eight months. Four of which have been exclusive. He spends most nights at my house already."

"And this is the young man who went with you to Australia to find your parents, right?"

"Yes. Draco."

"Right. There are some questions that you should probably discuss together. Things like how money will be managed in the household, who does what chores, and where you see yourselves in the next five years. Have you discussed your feelings about each other?"

Hermione frowned. Maybe she hadn't given this as much consideration as she had thought. "Umm, no, we haven't... I mean, we haven't said we love each other yet."

"Is that something you feel ready to talk with him about?"

Hermione glanced down at her teacup and took a sip, knowing it was probably tepid. It was but she didn't pull her wand out to cast a Warming Charm. For one, it would be rude to do magic in front of a squib. For another, the Ministry considered the children of squibs to be Muggles and she would be violating the Statue of Secrecy even though Celeste knew all about magic from her father and by working as a mind healer in contact with St Mungo's. Hermione thought the whole thing a bit silly and had even asked if Celeste would like to be advocated for to be registered as a squib. Celeste had declined and even mentioned that Léon had asked her the same thing decades ago.

"I suppose I need to talk to Draco about a lot of things when I ask if he wants to move in, huh?"

Celeste nodded. "I think you're ready to discuss feelings at least."

The rest of the hour-long session was spent talking about Léon Maurier and the legacy he left behind.

 *** . * . ***

 **Saturday, 7 September 2002**

Hermione poured two cups of tea and handed one to Draco after adding a splash of milk to it.

"So what did you want to talk to me about? You sounded very serious," he asked. He grinned, took a sip of his tea, and hummed in contentment.

She set her teacup down and rubbed her palms on the sofa cushion beside her leg. "Well, I wanted to ask you if you'd like to move in with me."

There was a pause before Draco released a breathy chuckle. "Really? You had me worried."

"There are things we need to talk about with this conversation, things that we might..." she frowned and realised she wasn't even looking him in the eye. She corrected that, looking up and locking gazes with him. "I'm in love with you."

He inhaled sharply before smiling so widely she could almost see his molars. Before she realised he was moving he had plonked his teacup on the table, sloshing much of it, and pounced over the table to kneel at her feet. "You are the most beautiful, amazing person I've ever met," he framed her face with his hands, cradling her with such gentleness she wasn't even sure if he was really touching her. "I am blessed knowing you and doubly blessed to have your love." He looked into her eyes and after a moment said, "I love you too."

Hermione smiled and dipped her head. She had prepared herself to not hear him say it. She didn't really know what to say now, though. Finally, she just decided to say what she was thinking. "I... I wasn't expecting you to return the sentiment."

"I've had feelings for you since that last year at Hogwarts," he said, "but it wasn't until May that I was confident that those feelings were love."

It took a moment before she remembered what happened in May. "When you asked for more commitment?"

He nodded and made to kiss her. Before he made contact, he stopped and whispered against her lips, "There was more you wanted to talk about, wasn't there?" He pecked her lips and leaned back. "I guess I'll go sit back on the sofa now," he sulked. "You could come sit on my lap while we talk, that's a compromise, right?"

She laughed at him but took his hand when he offered and snuggled close to him on the sofa to continue their talk. "We should talk about money and chores and the future."

"Money, chores, and the future?" he repeated. "Well, I have enough money for several lifetimes so anything you bring home is spending money. You own the house but if you want something larger later I'll buy it for you."

"You'd just buy me a house?" she questioned. "Really? Just like that?"

"I'd buy you an entire country if you wanted to rule one, Hermione, my queen," he said, kissing the top of her head.

"I don't want an entire country but I might want a bigger house one day."

"Then one day, we'll buy a bigger house. Though I'd like it to have a garden."

"This house has a garden," she said.

"This house has a lilac bush," he teased. "It doesn't have a garden."

"All right. But there's expenses: utilities, groceries."

"Utilities?" he asked, leaning back to see her face better.

"Water, gas, and electricity. I've cancelled the cable since I haven't replaced the telly. I realise that something like the Manor probably has a well and utilises magic to bring it into the house and there's no need for electricity or gas."

"We have an artesian well in the cellar and magic that replicates modern, or relatively modern, Muggle amenities. But I've told you before, I don't ever expect you to step foot in the Manor again. Unless you want to, I mean. But that's one of the reasons why Mum purchased the property in Brighton, so we could come see her away from the Manor."

"Did you ever tear down that wing of the Manor? I remember you mentioning it years ago when I worked at the Artefacts Agency."

He frowned. "We didn't because it would have required Mum to leave for the length of construction and she couldn't at the time. We talked with one of the Unspeakables in the Department of Mysteries and they said it could potentially damage the sarsen stones and the leyline that the magic of the Manor was founded on. Basically, he gave a lot of warnings that the house would lose a significant portion of its magical well if we tore it down. So we didn't. I still wanted to but Mother and about fifteen portraits convinced me otherwise."

Hermione just blinked at him. "Sarsen stones and magical wells?"

"The Manor has some sentience—not as much as Hogwarts, but some."

"Oh. I feel like I have a new research project," she muttered and started to wiggle out from his grasp to get up and grab some paper for notes.

He held her tighter. "Later, love. We were discussing money and chores. We can discuss the natural magical energy in magical dwellings later. You mentioned groceries, right? I can provide money to contribute to groceries and loo paper or..."

"Or?"

"I was wondering if I might bring one house-elf. We can provide her with funds and time off—whatever you'd like short of freeing her—and she would tidy up after us and she can purchase groceries and necessities at the market."

Hermione vaguely remembered hearing about a house elf market in the past. "Market?"

"There's that large grocer at the end of Diagon Alley, right? In the basement, they provide stalls for house-elves. Many of the older families grow crops on their land and house-elves will barter for what their families need there. I think the Weasleys, when they had house-elves a few generations ago, made a big market on apples and other fruits. I remember seeing their orchards at Potter's wedding."

"Really? That sounds fascinating."

"Really. If we had a house-elf here, she would use Malfoy-grown crops to barter for food. She wouldn't even have to cook it. We could purchase anything else you'd like at a regular Muggle shop. More of your tinned soup bases and cold cereals. And milk," he wrinkled his nose, "I had no idea how much Muggles drank milk until I went with you to the grocer a few months ago. And the types! Cows' milk, goats' milk, soy milk, buttermilk?"

Hermione sniggered at his tangent. "You put milk in your tea!"

"Now! I used to drink it black. Growing up we never had milk unless it was a special request of a half-blood guest."

"I don't know if a house-elf's presence will disrupt the electricity in the house."

"We could always have Lorney stay a few days on a trial run. She's very obedient to directions, so you'd probably need to make up a list of the things you'd rather her do and not do, but she's sweet. She's the newest elf in our household."

"Was she your nanny elf?"

He smiled but looked at her in confusion. "No?"

"Oh, its... When," she swallowed, unsure of how to explain the reason she asked. "When Lestrange first took me to his house, he had a conversation with his last remaining house-elf. I learned quite a bit just from that interaction, but... long story short, there was going to be a new elf for my baby. I thought Lestrange had said that new elves were for babies."

Draco kissed the top of her head again and squeezed her gently in a makeshift hug. "It is tradition to have an elf birth a new elf for the first child of the next generation. There might be a second new elf presented at the third or fourth child but that isn't the only time new elves are born. They have different family structures but they still procreate on their own without any connection to their wizarding masters."

"I still don't like how they're enslaved."

"I think that would be a good research project. I don't think your—what did you call it back then spew?—was well researched."

She huffed. "I did as well as I could with the resources I had, thank you very much, and it was S.P.E.W. not spew!"

"I know, I know, I'm just teasing. But really, did you even talk to many house-elves before you decided what was best for them?"

"No," she murmured.

"Didn't think so. Anyway, money has been discussed. Chores have been discussed and after the trial run with Lorney, we'll discuss again. What else was there?"

"Where do we see ourselves five years in future," Hermione said. "Personally, I see myself running my own advocacy firm, and perhaps finding an apprenticeship for one last year to qualify as a barrister. I'm having to pass on so many cases because I didn't go all the way through the apprentice program. Though now I know why Léon only offered two years. That's about all the time the healers said he had left. I'm still shocked that he didn't let on about being that sick."

"Personally, I see me running your Lycanthropy Foundation, at least partially, still holding my seat in the Wizengamot, but hopefully not needing to be an informant for the DMLE by then."

"Is there anything against sitting for cases presented by immediate family members?"

"There probably should be, but no, there's not. I can sit on the Wizengamot for every one of your cases and vote with you every time. Though, you should probably know that I won't. Especially if you get that barrister qualification and represent criminals."

"I wouldn't want you to just vote blindly because of me. I want to earn my cases."

"What do you see for us in the future?" Draco asked her, letting his fingers glide down her arm.

"I don't know. Together, at least."

His voice was quieter than before when he said, "Married?"

Hermione nodded. "I... Yes, I think I can see that in our future."

"Do you want children, Hermione?" He leaned back from her to look into her eyes.

"Don't you?" she asked.

"Yes, I would like at least one child with you," he said.

"At least one?"

He shrugged and smirked. "Maybe more than one. I mean, with your brains and my looks, how could we not bless the world with more than one?"

She laughed and pushed at his chest.

He leaned down and nibbled on her ear. "Maybe we can go practice how to make one, now? I've been a very good boy and sat still for almost all of your long, serious talk."

"Hmm..." she pretended to think, "I suppose we could."

His smile was predatory and he stood up, hoisting her up and over his shoulder as he did.

"Draco!" He smacked her on the arse and headed to their bedroom.

 *** . * . ***

 **Thursday, 19 September 2002  
**

I'm still not seeing the reason that you wanted to go shopping tonight," Hermione grumbled. "And then you didn't even decide on anything! I just wanted to relax today, Draco, I had a difficult case with a lot of archaic research to dig through and I've got a migraine. I wanted to take a long relaxing bubble bath and enjoy a quiet dinner of takeaway."

They had walked down to the corner shops for about an hour after he'd come home from the Ministry and he hadn't even made a purchase.

"I apologise, Hermione, I didn't realise you had a migraine," he said as she unlocked the front door. "I'll get you something as soon as you get the door open. Except—" he grabbed her arm right before she pushed the door open.

She turned to look at him, confused. "Except what?"

"Do you know what day it is?" he asked, reaching past her and shoving the door wide open.

"What?" she asked, turning back towards the door.

Voices shouted out, "Surprise!" and someone let off one of the Weasleys' Wildfire Whiz-bangs. Almost immediately afterwards, she heard "Oh shit!" as the Whiz-bang flew up and left black, sooty scorch marks on the ceiling.

"Finnigan!"

Laughter followed.

Hermione, still reeling from the noise looked back at Draco and said, "Today's Thursday?"

He laughed and put his hands on her shoulders guiding her into her living room. "It's also your birthday. Here, sit down and say hi to people while I go get you a potion of headache-relief." He gestured at Harry and pointed at her, like he wanted Harry to keep an eye on her. Harry patted Ginny on the arm and tilted his head to Hermione because he was still in the middle of telling a story to Seamus.

"Hey you," Ginny said as she walked up, having to speak close to Hermione's ear due to the din.

"Hi," she said. "What's going on?"

"Have you really not put the pieces together yet? It's a surprise birthday party, silly."

"Today's the nineteenth?"

"Are you feeling okay?"

Hermione shook her head just as Draco came back up behind her and wrapped an arm around her, with the other he handed her an uncorked vial. She reached for it and downed it without hesitation and Dean noticed.

"Really? Not even a cursory sniff to make sure he's not poisoning you? Come on, Hermione!" He teased.

"We live together, Thomas," Draco said, narrowing his eyes.

"If he's poisoning me, he'll also be cleaning up the vomit," she answered, taking a deep breath and slumping into Draco's side. She closed her eyes to let the potion take effect.

There were chuckles to her comments and Draco leaned close to whisper, "I am sorry about this. I didn't know you had a migraine, but the party's been scheduled since last Sunday."

"Right after I asked you to move in you invite all these people here for a party?" she squinted at him. "Irresponsible, rude—" she murmured and interrupted herself with a yawn.

"I promise I didn't give you the combination potion. If you're tired it's because you haven't been getting enough sleep," Draco said, smiling sweetly at her. "Come on, you've got lots of people to chat with and then there's cake and presents."

"Really?" she chuckled. "I'm twenty-three not twelve, I thought surprise parties were behind me."

"No way!" he answered. He looked up at everyone, had he invited the entirety of the DA? "Hey, the birthday girl here says that she thought surprise parties were behind her. How about we put our names in a collective and draw two or three names out each year and those people get surprise parties. That way none of us know who's going to have one next?"

Ron and George laughed. "I like the idea," George said, "but how are you going to keep it so none of us know? Surely at least two or three of us will have to know and if our names get pulled we just toss it back in so we never have to have one."

"Lorney!" Draco called.

The tiny elf cracked into the space right next to him, "You called, sir?"

The entire room went silent. Neville asked, "Hermione's got a house-elf?"

Hermione dropped her head for a minute before talking to the elf. She'd spent a lot of time in the last week and a half getting to know the little creature. They had agreed on vacation time and a salary. She had even learned something a bit shocking that she hadn't known about most house-elves.

"Lorney, do you think you could take down everyone's name on some parchment. I know how much you enjoy planning things. Do you think you and your friends would like to plan surprise birthday parties for the next several years?"

The elf smiled and popped away and back with one of Hermione's spiral bound notebooks and a Biro. She looked up at Hermione, "To include all the wizards and witches in the room, right?"

"Yes," Hermione confirmed. "And you and your friends, if you'd like to be included."

Lorney bounced a little in an excited dance before she started writing names. After jotting down three names and birthdays—hers, Draco's, and Hermione's, she started at the next closest person who happened to be Neville. "What's your name and your birthday, sir? And do you like a special flavour cake?"

The majority of the room just stared in shock before Harry looked at her. "Did you know elves could read and write? In English?"

Hermione just smiled at him. "When an elf is bound to a person, they absorb some of the knowledge of that person so as to know their mind and work to please the wizard or witch to the best of their abilities. Most of the time, that includes reading and writing in the wizard's dominant language."

Dean chuckled and it broke the odd silence that had gripped the room. Conversations broke out again and people stopped staring at Hermione and Lorney. "I thought I'd see the end of the world before I'd see Hermione Granger with a house-elf."

"She's technically not mine, she's Draco's, but I've spent a lot of time talking with her since I met her and she's set me straight on a lot of things," Hermione said. "And I've grown up. I know better than just pushing for emancipation without having a strategic plan in place behind it to help elves survive within our society in a different way. I'm still not happy with enslavement, but don't worry, Granger should still be synonymous with fair and equal rights for all. House-elf emancipation is just a long-term goal now."

"You must be feeling better," Draco said, kissing her temple.

"Yes, thank you. Are they still your mother's work or was that one of your brews?"

"Mum's. Why brew my own when she does them so well? Plus she brews in batches to sell for pocket money and she always sets some aside for me."

"I never see you with a migraine, though," she said.

"I used to get them more frequently. I mainly keep asking for them to have on hand for you."

Ginny must have been listening because she leaned close and said _sotto voce_ , "I had no idea how sweet he could be. Keep this one."

Hermione laughed.


	28. Chapter 28

**Saturday, 12 July 2003**

The next ten months flew by. Léon Maurier's will had been read at a small office in the Ministry and Hermione was one of the three people requested to be present. Deborah and Susan, her coworkers, were given the proceeds of his home and vault. Hermione was given the deed to Attorn du Maurier for her own law firm. She'd been subdued yet excited and moved her home office in within the week.

She had contacted one of the three remaining barristers in Britain and asked for an expedited course of study for the last year of her apprenticeship so she could be fully qualified to work criminal and higher profile cases. It had taken nine of the past months and an abundance of tension migraines but she'd completed the shortened year and opened her firm to cases of all sorts.

It had felt like her case volume tripled in the last month and Hermione had already hired two assistants to help with the paperwork and research. She was even put on retainer for several members of the DA, including Harry, who figured he might need her services if he ever finally snapped from the reporters chasing him and Ginny around all the time. She still worked toward equal rights for all and the cases that she could use to promote her overarching goals she worked for free.

Draco had helped her open the Lycanthropy Foundation and hired a few others to help him run it. He'd even talked his mother into a six-month contract of paid work after her original donation of time was over.

They had spent months working with George Weasley regarding the mobile phones. Hermione and Draco had to create a business and shop in the Muggle world that worked as a front for Weasleys Wizarding Wheezes to be a retailer to several mobile phone companies. Hermione had gone through all the law books she could find to make sure their plan was legally sound. It was; at least from the Wizarding side of things.

It was just before noon and Draco had dropped by the law firm, deciding for Hermione that since the cases had lulled for the week that they should go for a walk down Diagon Alley. She knew not to argue too hard with him because he only did this when she started to overwork herself.

"It's a Saturday, Hermione, what would Maurier say about working on a Saturday?" he asked as she slipped on her shoes.

She rolled her eyes at him, "I know, I know. Working hours are Monday through Friday, but I'm my own boss now, and if I feel like I need to work on the weekend, I can."

"This is the third weekend in a row and it's been mostly quiet this week. You need to relax. So we're going to go walking down the Alley, maybe stop in and see George and have lunch. When was the last time you window-shopped?" He cajoled.

She knew he was right. She rarely window-shopped preferring instead to get in and out as quickly as possible. Even Celeste had suggested she should slow down a bit. She patted her hair in the mirror next to the door. It wasn't nearly as bushy as it used to be, thanks to Narcissa. Narcissa's line of vanity potions and hair care products had also found a place on Weasley shelves after she brokered a deal with George, insisting that young witches and wizards would more likely be found in his store than in an apothecary and they would both make more money as a result.

Hermione finally locked up and they Apparated separately to the Leaky Cauldron's yard. They could have used the Apparition point located in the alley behind George's shop but if the goal was to window shop then the place to start would be the Leaky.

Draco tapped the wall with his wand and then offered her his arm. She slipped her hand into the crook of his elbow and they strolled out into the busy street. Business was booming today and children of all ages were running and darting around, sneaking behind people with toys from George's shop, and generally making mischief. Draco and Hermione strolled by the window displays at Potage's Cauldron Shop and Madam Malkin's Robes for All Occasions. They slipped into Flourish and Blotts and browsed the shelves for anything new to add to their library. Draco had started storing his own personal library, mostly from Severus's collection, at Malfoy Cottage because Hermione's shelves in her study and at the law firm were full. When they met back up at the till with only two books between them, Hermione giggled and handed to the clerk. She paid and slipped them both into her purse which had an Undetectable Extension Charm on it.

Draco slipped his hand into hers and pulled her back out into the crowd, headed towards the Magical Menagerie with more speed than they'd had at the first few shops.

"Where are we go—do you want a pet, Draco?" she asked as he slowed in front of the entrance. She was looking into the window, seeing a few pygmy puffs and owls. The Kneazles were kept in crates farther into the store.

"No, I thought I saw someone."

"Who could you have possibly seen in this cr—" she turned and standing in front of them both was Rabastan Lestrange. He looked healthy and was immaculately dressed in fashionable robes. His hair was shoulder length and his eyes seemed greener than she remembered. "Rabastan," she said.

He smiled and dipped his head, "Good afternoon Miss... Granger," he said, hesitating to glance at her neck, to her wrist, and then up to Draco. "Draco."

"Bass," Draco said, smiling. "It's good to see you out and about. Are you just taking the air or did you have shopping you needed to do?"

"Trying to get used to crowds again. Though I think I should probably have started on a less busy day. Who knew that being out in the open but surrounded by people could still cause a sense of claustrophobia," he said, chuckling slightly.

"You know, we were about to get lunch soon," Draco said, pointing towards the new bistro that had taken over Fortescue's Ice Cream Parlour, "Would you like to join us? We can get one of the outdoor tables but there's the little fence to keep the crowd at bay."

Rabastan glanced at Hermione before shaking his head, "I... I couldn't intrude like that." Draco squeezed Hermione's hand.

"Oh, come on. You're not intruding, Rabastan," Hermione said, "Join us. I mean, if you don't have any pressing plans or anything." She smiled encouragingly, trying to smooth out the awkwardness between them.

He smiled and looked at both of them before nodding. "As long as you're sure I won't be intruding."

Draco rolled his eyes and playfully pushed against his shoulder. "Do I have to drag both of you? First the workaholic here," he gestured to Hermione, "and now you."

He tugged on Hermione's hand before pulling it up to hook on his elbow so he could escort her properly and Rabastan moved to walk along Draco's other side.

They entered the sandwich shop and placed their order and sat at a table near the front wall of the building, shaded with an orange and lilac-coloured umbrella to wait for the server to deliver their meal. Sitting together with a table between them seemed to ease some of the awkward tension that had been between them. Rabastan looked much more relaxed. "Workaholic, hmm?" he asked Hermione. "I've been keeping up as much as I'm able with your work. I keep clippings from the _Daily Prophet_ with every case they publish details about. I had no idea that you wanted to go into law."

"I didn't really know that's what I wanted to do until January 2000 or so and didn't contact Léon until April of that year."

"Working with Dark Artefacts wasn't something you felt passionate about?"

"On the contrary, I loved the work, when there was something to actually do. By the time I contacted Léon we had had a dry spell of three weeks. There weren't enough Artefacts coming in to keep me as busy as I would have liked."

"The department didn't last much longer after you left, either," Draco said.

"What? Really, I hadn't heard."

"Seems sometime in August, Minister Shacklebolt got wind of an interoffice relationship that was against a dusty old policy that hadn't been enforced in the sixty years since it was passed and Patricia Smythwick, the only employee in that department and Saul Croaker were both sacked. There was quite a scandal because no Unspeakable has ever been sacked before." Hermione's eyes went wide and she started giggling. Draco smirked. "Do you have inside information about this?"

"I might have offhandedly mentioned to Kingsley that Smythwick was behind Croaker's desk when I gave in my two weeks notice. I know that in the Muggle world that sort of relationship is discouraged. Didn't realise it was universal. I had actually thought that everyone knew; I mean, they weren't subtle about it."

Rabastan grinned and narrowed his eyes at her, "What sort of barrister are you if you don't know that policy?"

"Well, I know now," she retorted, smiling. Their meals arrived then, and they settled into a much more comfortable silence as they started eating. "We've been talking about me too much," Hermione said between bites. "How are you doing?"

"He hasn't been alone," Draco said, taking another bite without elaborating. Hermione felt her stomach tighten and her food felt like a rock in her stomach. She set her sandwich down.

"No," Rabastan smirked at Draco, "Draco comes and visits every weekend and Narcissa received permission to fire-call on Tuesdays. Without them, I think I might have gone mad. There's only so much intellectual conversation one can have with house-elves and portraits. I was even excited for market day because Limpet would bring back all the gossip she would hear from the other elves she bartered with."

The tension in Hermione's abdomen abated. Had she really been jealous, just then? Then his comment registered and she turned to Draco. "I thought you visited your mother on Sundays?"

"I do visit my mother on Sundays, but I visit Bass too. Before I go hang out with Theo and Greg, I'd stop in and see Bass for a bit. I thought I had mentioned that he was one of my closest friends."

"Oh," she answered and then leaned back to think. Had he said that before? She couldn't remember. While she was trying to remember, she watched how both of them had tensed, almost like they were waiting for her to declare that they couldn't see one another. "Okay," she said and she watched as both of them relaxed. "Well, now that Rabastan can leave his house, you two can do more than just visit. You could take him rock climbing, Draco."

Draco laughed, shaking his head. "No way, I was so sore afterwards! I thought I was in shape from Quidditch but I hurt in places that I didn't even know could hurt!"

"I think it was the harness. You could always... Oh, I've got another business idea."

"Rock climbing for wizards?" Draco asked.

She nodded. "Without the harnesses, with cushioning spells on the floor, maybe a tripable Momentum Halting Charm, with trained personnel below ready to cast it as well."

"Do you think wizards are that likely to get into rock climbing?"

Hermione tilted her head. "Probably not. I enjoyed it, though."

"You weren't sore afterwards?" Rabastan asked curiosity and amusement colouring his tone. "I remember Draco complaining about it."

"Not really. I'd been going to the gym regularly. It's something I should pick back up, I just got so busy with that expediated year of apprenticeship."

"You're a workaholic. Maurier knew it and tried to break you of it," Draco said.

"I know."

They had finished their meal and more of the tables around them had started filling up. "I might be too old for it, but I think I'd like to give rock climbing a go."

"You're not too old," Hermione reassured. "I'll set something up if you like?"

"You'll regret it," Draco said.

"Oh hush."

Rabastan turned his head slightly and nodded. "The proprietor is politely glaring at us. Seems they've got a wait for tables starting."

Hermione smiled, tempted to turn around to look. "What does politely glaring look like?"

Rabastan copied the facial expression, twisted, pursed lips and lowered eyebrows, obviously exaggerated. Hermione laughed.

"Are you sure that's not George making faces at us?"

Draco chuckled and turned to see the proprietor. "No, though Bass's description was a bit off. I don't know if that's a polite glare or confused constipation." Rabastan joined in on the chuckles.

"Come on," Draco said, standing and tossing enough coins down to pay for the meal. "Let's go before he starts hexing us for laughing at him." They stood and strolled back out onto the street.

"He better not hex me, I won him the case to buy this place," she said.

"Oh, maybe he's just worried he forgot to pay his fees," Draco teased.

"He paid me, Draco," she said.

"A pittance."

"It was my first for-pay case, I wasn't sure how much to charge."

"You've got her straight now, don't you?" Rabastan asked Draco.

"She's one of four active barristers, of course, I've made her raise her rates."

"One of five, now?" she asked, looking up at Rabastan, who had fallen into step beside her this time.

"Oh, no, I can't. No one wants to be represented by someone who's been in Azkaban. I could work in research or consult another barrister but not as representation."

"Hmm... Are you interested in being employed Rabastan?"

"Hermione, you're not hiring Bass."

"Why not?"

"Just... no."

"I'll think about it. I wouldn't mind consulting if you need me, free of charge. I wouldn't mind getting out of the house. Draco's helped update my library, so I'm up-to-date with the current legislation."

They had walked down the Alley to George's shop. "Did we need to stop in and talk with George?" Hermione asked Draco. He pursed his lips in thought before shaking his head. "Home then?"

"You feeling all right, love?" he asked softly.

She reached up and tapped the side of her neck, one of her first tells that she was getting a tension migraine was tightness in her neck and shoulders. He reached out and rubbed at the knot in her shoulder as they turned to look at Rabastan.

"It was great seeing you again, Rabastan," Hermione said.

"Would you two be interested in joining me for a picnic on the grounds of the Estate? The gardens are beautiful this year."

Hermione nodded but Draco answered for both of them. "Of course. When?"

"Would tomorrow be okay? Limpet bartered for more produce than normal this week and would be ecstatic to have company to prepare a meal for. I think she found a cookbook in a hidden cubby in the attic."

Draco looked down at Hermione, conferring with her without speaking, before looking back up to Rabastan. "Tomorrow it is then. Lunch? Dinner?"

Rabastan debated for a moment. "Dinner. It will give Limpet more options." They said their goodbyes after that and Rabastan Disapparated first.

"Do you want to pester George to use his Floo?"

"No, I can Apparate. We've still got the headache-relief potion at home, right?"

"Mum never lets us run out."

"Good," Hermione said before they Disapparated to their backyard.

 *** . * . ***

 **Sunday, 13 July 2003**

"Do you remember where to Apparate to?" Draco asked as they were getting ready to leave for dinner.

"It's been a few years but I'm sure I'll be fine."

"We could Floo, you know," he said, straightening the watch on his wrist.

"How do you normally visit?"

"Apparition. Not everyone keeps their Floo-connected fireplace free of ash like Mum does. Besides, the one fireplace he had open was connected to his study." He ran a hand through his hair as he looked in the mirror one last time. "Though he might have opened the guest fireplaces now that his sentence is up."

"Hmm," Hermione answered. She stood from tying her sneakers. She glanced into the mirror and saw both of their reflections together. "Should I change?"

He turned back to look at her. "Jeans that show off your arse and a cute top that shows off your sexy arms and shoulders. What's wrong with it?"

"It's Muggle. It's not witches' robes."

He raised an eyebrow. "So? It's not like he hasn't seen you in Muggle clothes before."

Hermione shrugged. "Witches' robes are like armour."

Draco rolled his eyes and said, "I have been negligent in taking you out enough if you think robes are like armour. Some robes are nothing but chiffon."

"I don't mean literally, though I don't think I'd be comfortable enough to wear something like that. I meant it's one more layer between me and the Wizarding world. It's one more way of showing that I belong."

He turned and grabbed her shoulders gently, moving her to sit back on the bed before he knelt in front of her. "I am so sorry to have made you feel like you didn't belong in this world when we were children. Do you feel like this all the time? Is someone at work giving you a hard time? Shacklebolt insisted on those anti-discrimination laws first thing after the war."

"Is the next sentence out of your mouth, 'who do I need to hex?' because if it is, I think my Gryffindor tendencies have rubbed off on you too much," she said, grinning.

"More like who do I need to dig up dirt on next or if it's a client, who do I need to punish," he responded, his eyes gleaming with promise.

"There isn't anyone."

"Then what's going on? You've taken over the top spot for best barrister in Britain from Maurier and you've only been at this fully for a month. Who knew there was so much work for barristers in this country? You're the best, Hermione, at pretty much everything."

She rolled her eyes and chuckled. "You're ridiculous. I could list lots of things I don't do well in." He only raised his eyebrows and squeezed her shoulders. "Sometimes I just feel like a fraud. Like, how did I get here? It must have been luck."

"You're the ridiculous one. You got here through force of will, immeasurable hard work, and tension migraines. That's how you got here. Have you talked to your therapist about this?"

She narrowed her eyes at him like she was going to make a dig or retort before slumping in his hold. "No. I know I should."

"Yes, you should, because I'm not good at this. I've started on my own list of all the things you're the best at and the top five are all sexual." She laughed and he grinned. "All better? You look great, he might ogle you a bit, we're going to have a delicious if odd picnic for dinner and we're going to be fine. You know Bass. He's not a stranger."

"He might as well be."

"Well, we can fix that you know. And to start with, we do that by accepting his invitation to dinner and arriving on time. So come on." He gestured with his head towards the door and stood, helping her to stand as well. They locked up and Disapparated separately to the front door of Lestrange Estate.

The beautiful building looked the same as it did the last time Hermione saw it. Within seconds of Apparating, the door had flung wide and Dorna and Limpet rushed out, followed by five more elves. "Mistress! We is so pleased to see you!" Limpet shouted and wrapped her arms around Hermione's legs in a hug. Dorna was a bit more cautious and just hovered closely. "Is Lorney taking care of you like she should?"

"You know Lorney?" Hermione asked. She knew she shouldn't be shocked that house elves knew others though she was a little.

"Of course I know Lorney!" Limpet answered, pulling back to look up at Hermione, "She's my new elf!"

"Oh, I didn't realise," Hermione said. "Yes, she's been taking care of me."

"Good, good."

"Limpet, are you molesting my guests?" Rabastan called from the door.

The little elf squeaked and popped out of existence leaving a loud CRACK to ring in their ears.

"Dorna is happy to see you, Mistr—"

"Dorna!" Rabastan interrupted her. "You've greeted them, you have other tasks to manage, I assume. If Miss Granger wants to chat with you she will call for you."

Dorna, who Hermione had seen be bossy with her master, dropped her head in a nod and let her ears droop. "Of course, Master Rabastan," she said and then she also vanished, though with a less ear-ringing crack.

"I apologise," he said, dipping his own head to hide his embarrassment, "It seems my isolation has also felt like isolation to my house elves. They should know better than to—"

"Rabastan," she interrupted him. He stopped and looked at her with wide eyes before he blinked and looked away from her, relaxing his features again. "They're fine. I'm sure they're just excited. And please, call me Hermione."

He took a deep breath and looked back up at her. Then his gaze slid to Draco for a moment. "I hope you're hungry," he said, offering them a small grin, "Limpet made a veritable feast. There are two ways to get to our picnic destination. We can walk through the gardens or fly by broom."

"Is it that far? Which gardens did you..." she wanted to claim more familiarity with the gardens surrounding the estate but she had only ever visited the east gardens because those were the ones on the side of the house where she had spent the most time.

The corners of Rabastan's lips twitched like he wanted to smile. "It's beyond the south gardens. I found a little clearing near the stream where fairies gather, and since we'll be out as it's going on dusk they should start to light up the space. It's not a very long walk."

Draco answered for her. "We'll walk. She'll climb rock walls taller than the Whomping Willow but try to get her on a broom..." he shook his head.

She scrunched her nose up at him and turned to follow Rabastan as he led them through the house. What she saw of the armoury gallery had not changed except when she glanced to the right she thought she saw a child's rocking chair at the far end. They were through the narrow room before she could confirm it.

Hermione walked a bit faster and fell into step beside Rabastan rather than behind him. Without thinking about it, because she did it so often with Draco, she slipped her hand around his elbow. At first, he jerked at her touch but then he bent his arm and brought his other hand up to rest on top of hers. He escorted her straight through the gardens. On either side of her were thousands of blooms open to the sky and the extra sunlight summer afforded them. Soon it would be dusk and many of them would close. As they got further from the house she noticed a brick wall with ivy trailing over it. She stopped in her tracks to stare at it. Rabastan stopped completely and Draco almost bumped into her. Instead, he slipped his hand around her waist.

"Everything all right?" Rabastan asked.

"I..." her eyes narrowed as she stared at it. She remembered the first time she remembered seeing that wall. In a dream with a little girl with auburn curls and pale green eyes. Hermione turned and looked at Rabastan standing next to her. Those same green eyes watching her closely. She must have seen it in her time at the estate and not actively remembered it. She swallowed and nodded. "Sorry. I'm fine."

Rabastan watched her for a moment longer before they started walking again. Draco didn't fall back but interlaced his fingers with her free hand to walk beside her. She turned and gave him a smile.

They reached their destination and Hermione smiled at the beautiful scene. There was a stream running through the property. It was small, not something that could be fished in or played in, though she supposed it would be fun enough to take her shoes off and splash her feet. The clearing did have little fairy nests scattered about. In the centre, where a weeping willow's branches hung down almost to the ground, a large blanket had been spread out and a picnic hamper sat in the centre. There was also a stack of lounging pillows they could recline on like Romans as they dined. "It's gorgeous," she muttered as she walked around. The grass looked fluffy and soft and she debated taking off her shoes but decided to do that after they ate.

She grabbed her own pillow and relaxed on it and Draco and Rabastan followed suit. Rabastan opened the hamper and pulled out several platters with beautifully arranged finger foods, so pretty she almost didn't want to eat them. He only took the Stasis Charms off one at a time, in case insects or fairies decided to fly nearby. When Hermione leaned up to look closer at the platters she saw tiny numbers draw on the corner with whatever condiment or sauce was drizzled on the food so Rabastan knew which to serve first. She smiled and took the first offering from the platter that Rabastan held in front of her.

They ate in relative silence. Hermione thought they would have been awkward in the quiet but found the whole experience relaxing. When twilight settled around them and the fairies lit up it wasn't enough to see the food anymore.

"Well, I suppose we could go in or just skip the last dessert platter," Rabastan said, glancing around at the semi-darkness. The moon was full but didn't penetrate the trees well.

"Nonsense," Hermione said before she conjured five jars and Bluebell Flames in each. She set them equally spaced around their blanket. "There, now we can enjoy the last of Limpet's feast."

Draco and Rabastan glanced at the jars and then shared a long look with one another. Rabastan picked up one of the last treats and held it out for Hermione to eat from his fingers. She did and accidentally licked his fingers too. In the dim lighting, she couldn't see his eyes very well to see if her accident upset him. Hermione picked up the second-to-last sweet on that plate and held it out to Draco.

Before he leaned forward and took it from her fingers he looked at Rabastan. "I'm not feeding one to you. You can eat it on your own." He opened his mouth and took the treat from Hermione's fingers but also grabbed her hand to keep her from pulling away. He chewed and swallowed quickly so he could suck the cream that had dripped onto her fingers. Hermione whimpered when he bit down on her index finger with the lightest of pressure.

Then his mobile phone rang and whatever spell that was starting to weave between them was shattered. He furrowed his brow and rolled away so he could fish his phone from his pocket. He glanced at it once before sitting up and answering it. Within moments he was standing and walking away to deal with whatever the call was about.

Hermione frowned, wondering who he could possibly be getting a phone call from close to ten at night. She looked back at Rabastan. He was watching her, staring without shame. She picked up the last sweet and offered it to him. She saw him swallow and look from her eyes and the to treat in her fingers before opening his mouth to take the treat from her. His tongue danced around her fingers as she slipped them from his mouth. He chewed and swallowed.

Hermione was sure the wine had gone to her head because suddenly she felt overly warm. She sat up and Rabastan followed, then settled next to her and watched Draco pace in the distance. He must have cast a muffling spell because she could see his hands moving wildly as he swore but couldn't hear him.

"I'm sorry, Hermione."

She furrowed her brow and looked over at him. "What for, Rabastan?"

"For trying to trap you into a life you didn't want. For taking away your choices. For killing our—"

"Stop. No. You didn't," she reached over and picked up his hand, entwining their fingers.

He seemed to choke once before he tried to speak, "I—"

"Shh," she said, leaning her shoulder against his. "When you were apprenticing to be a barrister, did your master ever tell you that you'd need to see a mind healer regularly?"

"Father?" he asked, confused at her clear change of subject. "Yes, but I'm not practi—"

"You need to see a mind healer, Bass."

His mouth closed mid-word and he just looked at her. Finally, he lowered his gaze and nodded. "Have you seen one?" he looked away then, turning his head from her so she barely heard his next words. "And talked about her?"

She squeezed his hand. "Yes. I see Dr Celeste Grinstone. She was Léon's mind healer as well. I've talked to her about Ylva and the dreams I used to have about her. And you."

"You used to dream about me?" He turned to look at her, shocked at the admission.

"When I stopped and stared at that wall earlier? I had dreams of Ylva playing in the garden and hiding behind that wall."

He grinned, though it was full of nostalgia and sorrow. "You really think talking with a mind healer will help?"

"Yes. For your guilt, especially. You need to deal with that first, but all of your time as a Death Eater and imprisoned—both here and in Azkaban. When you've started working through that, then maybe... Maybe we can try the three of us again."

His eyes widened and he glanced back up towards Draco before looking at her. "The three of us?" he asked, almost like he was scared he was dreaming.

She squeezed his hand again to prove that he wasn't. "You, me, and Draco. We never got a chance to try it before."

His breath rushed from him and his mouth opened to say something but no words came to him. When he finally drew in his next breath it was ragged. He wrapped his arms around her and buried his face in her hair. He didn't release her immediately and it wasn't until she felt him shaking and heard another gasped breath that she realised he had started crying.

 *** . * . ***

It was close to midnight when Hermione and Draco finally apparated home. Draco had ended his phone conversation and returned to find Rabastan crying into her hair, arms wrapped around her. He had been frustrated about whatever the call had been about but calmed enough to realise that something must have happened between her and Rabastan. He hadn't commented on it or the telephone call. After Rabastan had pulled himself together he acknowledged that dinner had lasted a bit longer than he'd intended. He offered them a guest room if they would have liked to stay but they declined. Now, back home, Draco seemed ready to burst with energy.

He shut the door behind him with his foot and reached forward to grab Hermione around the waist. He pulled her to him and cupped her breasts from behind. Hermione chuckled at his enthusiasm. "At least lock the door," she said. She went to pull away from him but he wrapped his arm around her and locked the door with a wave of his wand and a non-verbal spell. "Don't you want to go to our big comfortable bed to play?" she asked.

He nipped at her neck and muttered, "Uh-uh," before directing her to the sofa. He leaned her over it and began to strip her.

"What was the phone call about?" she asked, as she kicked off her shoes and stepped out of her jeans and knickers as he pulled them down together.

"There was an incident at the Foundation. One of the werewolves attacked one of the assistants," he said, his words wet against the back of her thigh.

"What? And you're just—"

He stood and put his hand on her back to stop her from turning around, instead he pushed her further into the cushions. "It's been taken care of. The assistant was the one in charge of brewing the Wolfsbane for six of the twenty-five lycanthropes that use the facility to transform. He screwed up somehow and six of those wolves lost their minds with the transformation. The assistant also didn't close and lock the cell door properly behind him and that's why he was savaged. He's at St Mungo's and there's nothing to be done."

"Draco," she pushed back against his firm grip.

He let her go only to kneel behind her and lap at her pussy lips. She squirmed but didn't move except to spread her legs wider.

"Nothing to be done," he muttered again. He buried his face in her cunt and ran his hands up the back of her thighs. He pulled back to smack her once on each arsecheek.

Hermione moaned even as he slipped his fingers into her and lapped at her lower lips. He pressed down against her G-spot and turned his head so he could suck her clit into his mouth. She saw stars and pulsed around his jerking fingers. When she could talk again, he had slowed his torment of her but not stopped. "What has you so aggressive tonight?"

He jerked his fingers roughly once and she yelped. He pulled his hand away from her and backed off, standing and turning her around to look down at her. "Are you okay? I'm sorry, I didn't mean to hurt you."

"The only part that hurt was that last twitch when I yelped. I'm okay," she said. Now that she was facing him she started unbuttoning his robes to bare his hot skin to her touch. "Are you still going to fuck me over the sofa?"

"I'm upset," he said as he stood still and let her undress him. "You... You offered Bass something I wasn't prepared for."

She frowned and looked up at him, leaning back over the sofa to get a better look at his face since he was looking past her. "You like Rabastan, though. You were willing to share me in the past."

He looked back at her and smiled. "When I didn't know you like I do, when you were just a wife to spite my father. Now I'm not so sure I want to share you. I don't know if I can."

She frowned. "Draco..."

"I understand why you did it and when you unintentionally set up a ritual circle that could have come straight out of my family grimoire..." he shook his head and stooped to kiss her. His words confused her but her body's reaction to him didn't. He dominated her mouth and caressed her breasts, pressing against her and grinding his erection into her hip. "I love you," he murmured before turning her back around, pressing on her shoulder blades to get her to bend back over the sofa, and sliding home into her cunt.

She felt his cock throb as he entered her and she knew to be still else he come immediately. After he gave himself a moment to get back in control he wrapped his fingers around her waist and started thrusting into her.

"The fire at five points and the circle of salt. Bass would have set up the salt beforehand, around the edges of the blanket so the fairies wouldn't disperse because of our presence," he explained as he moved.

"What about it?" she asked between gasps.

He smacked her arsecheek again and moved faster. "Feeding one another in the circle."

"So? He started th...mmmm," she moaned again as he reached around and pressed his fingers against her clit.

"The next step was to consummate the relationship. It's one of the oldest marriage ceremonies in the book. Probably the..." he quieted as she groaned and fell apart around his cock again, "probably the same ceremony in his grimoire. We could have just taken you there and been done with it all. Ours forever." He groaned and thrust harder before stilling. She felt his cock throb and the heat of his seed flood her. He pulled her up to lean against his sweaty chest without dislodging his dick from her. "I don't know if I can share you now that I've had you all to myself, Hermione," he said, panting in her ear.

"He's so lonely..."

"I know."

"Have you ever shagged him?" she asked, enjoying the sound of him catching his breath.

She felt him move his head and she tilted hers back to look up at him. He made eye contact with her. "Yeah," he whispered. "Yes, I've shagged Bass."

"When?"

He grinned. "You trying to catch me in a compromising position?"

She didn't quite understand and furrowed her brow.

"I haven't fucked anyone else since you and I've been exclusive."

"But you've fucked him since we left Hogwarts?"

He shook his head. "No. We fucked during the last year of the war, actually." His dick twitched and he eased a step back to slip from her. "After he had you he never wanted anyone else."

She frowned but closed her eyes. "You know, he told me that he thought of you like a younger brother."

He buried his face in her shoulder to muffle his laughter. "Well I've never looked at him like a brother, that's for sure."

She couldn't help but imagine that perhaps Rabastan's family tree didn't fork like others' if he could fuck Draco and still think of him as a brother. She let the thought fall away to focus on Draco and his needs even as she stifled a yawn. "Would you be as jealous of sharing me if there was the potential for you two to shag?"

He hummed and wrapped his arms around her in a hug. "I don't know." He pecked the top of her head.

"How about we give the threesome thing a shot but if you're uncomfortable or unhappy then we talk it out. If that means breaking up with Rabastan then that's what I'll do."

He nodded. "That sounds reasonable and I'll try to curb my jealousy. Now come on sleepyhead, I want to snog you before I shag you to sleep."

She grinned. "I stay awake for shagging."

"I've rocked you to sleep before," he teased.

"Nuh-uh," she argued, eyes still closed. He just chuckled and guided her to the bedroom.


	29. Chapter 29

**Friday, 8 August 2003**

Hermione didn't hear from Rabastan for two weeks. Draco mentioned that he'd been over for dinner at Malfoy Cottage with Narcissa on the weekends but they hadn't spoken about Hermione.

It was the first of August when Hermione got an owl at work, asking if she would join Rabastan for dinner at the Estate. Hermione had waited to accept his invitation until later that night when she had had a chance to talk again with Draco. He'd been reluctant but told her it was her decision.

So now, a week later, Hermione was standing in her closet wondering what to wear. She'd already discarded the short dresses she'd used for dates with Ron and she'd started wearing jeans on her dates with Draco almost a year back. She'd done a half-up-half-down thing with her hair and out of habit put on her abalone necklace and ring from Draco. She heard the door open and close and called out to Draco.

"What do I wear?" She asked loudly.

"A burka!" he called back.

"Ha ha, very funny. No really," she lowered her voice as he came down the hall, "Is dinner at his house formal enough to warrant a dress? Should it be long or short? Should I wear stockings?"

Draco leaned against the door jam and let his eyes trail down her body, lingering on her matching pink lace bra and knicker set. He raised a single eyebrow. "Are you really wearing new lingerie for him on your first date?"

"It was a gag gift for a Secret Santa with Ginny's Quidditch team. She's not a big fan of pink or the full bottom on the knickers so she gave it to me. She likes the cheeky ones."

"And the bra fit? Last I saw Weaselette she didn't have your curves," he asked, still ogling her breasts.

"I cast an enlarging charm. It changes the fit a little but not horribly."

"Are you trying to seduce Bass?"

"What? No, I just don't want to go to dinner in something casual like jeans if he's expecting something more—"

"If you say witchy I might hex you."

She grinned and dropped her head back, "What do I wear, Draco?"

He straightened and walked to her closet pulling out a pale blue skirt and a dark, patterned blouse that had belonged to her mother. She'd never worn it.

"Here, not too extreme either way. He's not going to care what you're wearing, you know. He just wants to spend time with you. Though I might be a tad upset if you sleep with him on a first date."

She frowned. "I hadn't planned on it, Drake."

"Good. Now, get dressed and go. If you dither too much longer you're going to be late and he'll start worrying."

Hermione dressed quickly, kissed Draco—longer than she'd planned—and used the Floo.

"Hermione," Rabastan's voice sounded relieved. She stepped fully from the fireplace and glanced around, curious that she'd stepped into the gallery upstairs. This must have been what Draco meant about the guest Floo.

"Hi," she said. He was dressed impeccably, as usual. In a dark blue set of robes that made her want to count the number of buttons running along the side of his chest. The wrap style of men's robes wasn't new, he'd always preferred it, but the number of buttons had increased. She suspected the more formal the clothing, the more buttons, though she was far from knowledgeable about wizard's robes. "We match," she said.

"Draco's doing, I suspect?"

She shrugged. "I didn't know what to wear."

He smirked. "Nothing would have been perfectly acceptable."

It broke the odd tension between them and she laughed. "You've been spending too much time with Draco if you're talking like that," she teased.

He nodded, agreeing. "Maybe." He reached out for her hand. "You look lovely, will you accompany me to dinner?"

She accepted his hand and he tucked her into his side and escorted her down the hall. "Why here? I would have thought you were tired of being home all the time?"

"I wanted to talk about the therapy sessions I've had with Celeste and I thought privacy should trump everything else. I'm also still getting used to crowds and I wanted to be comfortable. I hope that's all right?" He asked, looking down at her.

She nodded. "It's only been a few weeks, what could you have possibly talked about in three weeks?"

"Everything. Ylva. My time as a Death Eater. How horrible Azkaban is."

"Really? You've talked about Ylva already? It took me almost a year before I was comfortable talking about her to Celeste."

He escorted her into the dining room and her eyebrows rose. "Did you bring all of the gardens inside for the night?" she teased. The table had an enormous centrepiece and the buffet tables around the room had several smaller pieces.

"The elves wanted to decorate the entire house to welcome you," he swallowed, "home. I talked them down to just this room."

"I don't even know most of them, do I? I know Dorna and Limpet."

He lowered his gaze and spoke lower, "You've met Taupey."

"That's the one that—"

"Taupey and I had a very long talk after that. He knows better now. I regret that I hadn't talked with him before he said what he did."

"That had been a very long, difficult day but yes, that's only three."

"Saffron and Sage attended you at Hogwarts," he told her as he pulled out her chair for her.

"Wait, the extra attention I got there was from your elves?"

He grinned and the lines around his eyes crinkled. "The least I could do."

He sat in his chair and frowned. "Sage?" he said.

The pop that alerted them to a house-elf appearing was quiet. "Yes, sir?"

"Hermione loves the flowers but the centrepiece makes it difficult to have a conversation, could you find a new place for it?"

"They would look beautiful in the Marble Hall, Sage," she suggested. The elf looked over at her and gave her the biggest smile she'd ever seen on an elf.

"Of course, Mistress Hermione!" he popped out of the room, taking the overly large centrepiece with him.

Hermione sighed, "I lucked out with Lorney, she doesn't call me Mistress."

"If you step into the role of Lady of the House like that anymore, you'll never be anything else," he said.

"What do you mean?"

"Did you not hear what you said? You told him exactly where you wanted the flowers to go."

"All I did was suggest—"

"And that's all he needed," he said, making eye contact.

"Oh." She felt her face flush as he continued to stare so heatedly at her. "Do house-elves do that with others?"

He looked away and she felt like she could breathe again. "I'm not sure I understand what you're asking." The first course of dinner shimmered into place on the table in front of them.

"In other families, if the master of the house has a girlfriend or lover, would house-elves refer to her as Mistress out of courtesy, like yours do with me?"

From across the dinner table, Hermione could see his cheeks tinge pink and he turned his head down with embarrassment. He didn't answer, instead, he took a bite of dinner.

"Rabastan?" she asked again before taking her own bite of food.

"They're all bound to me and they know my mind, Hermione," he finally said after a long moment.

"Yes, when I learned that about Lorney, I thought it was riveting, but I don't understand what that has—"

"I still..." he trailed off and shook his head. "Do you have any interesting cases at work?"

She frowned, at his obvious change of subject. Did he still want to marry her then? Did he still think of her as his bride? Was that why the elves called her Mistress? He'd obviously discussed calling her Mistress before because he'd scolded Dorna in front of her but they still seemed to say it without realising it. She left the topic of house-elves to rest and answered his question.

By dessert, they had discussed her advocacy work as well as the Lycanthropy Foundation and the mobile phones products that she and Draco sold through Weasley's Wizarding Wheezes. "So have your sessions with Celeste been productive?"

He grinned, "I paid for two extra hour sessions the first two visits but the next four were normal."

She looked up at him in shock, "You've gone twice a week?"

"I wanted to go three times a week, but she didn't have enough slots open for it."

"Bass, it takes time, you know, you don't have to get it all out all at once."

His grin turned into a bright smile. "You've never called me that before."

She felt heat rise up in her cheeks again. "It's what Draco calls you."

"I know. I had thought my heart would explode when you called me by my first name the first time, but to hear you comfortable enough with me to call me a nickname..." that heated look was back in his eyes but he did a better job of hiding it. "I've got something to show you," he said, tossing his napkin beside his plate and standing. "If you're done?" He glanced down at her empty plate but her still-held fork. "I'm sure if you want seconds Limpet could do that."

She laughed at herself and set her fork down. She picked her napkin up off her lap and dropped it on the table. She stood and came around the table. "Show me, then."

He hooked her arm through his and escorted her out of the dining room. As they walked, Hermione spotted a portrait of a beautiful red-haired woman that she didn't remember before. "Did you ever find your mother's portrait?" she asked.

He glanced at her and lead her to the portrait that had caught her eye. "You're looking at her."

"She's beautiful."

"Yes, she was. She's not moved so I assume she never enchanted it."

"She could be practising Occlumency; Severus used to do that."

"I didn't know you were familiar with Snape enough to use his first name."

She smiled. "I was familiar with his portrait. He told me to tell you goodbye before I... Well, now he's really gone."

Hermione reached out to touch the frame of his mother's painting. She couldn't detect the Dark Magic residue, but with so many portraits in the gallery, she probably wouldn't have. She pulled her arm free from Rabastan and pulled her wand from her pocket. She cast the Dark Magic detection spell she'd used before. Every portrait, excluding the one in front of them, echoed the detection. She turned to look at Bass and shook her head. "She's not charmed, I'm sorry."

He nodded and looked back up at the painting.

What was her name?"

"Priscilla Parkinson."

"Parkinson, really? Are you related to Pansy?"

He nodded. "A niece who's not particularly fond of me. Her older brother Princeton still owls every so often. I was already in Azkaban when Pippa was born."

Hermione frowned. "I didn't know Pansy had siblings."

He chuckled. "Not every family has single children and almost all British purebloods are related in some way. If I hadn't gone to Azkaban your friend Luna Lovegood would have been a niece as well."

"I don't even know Luna's mum's maiden name."

"Greengrass. Lovegood married Pandora; I was to marry the youngest sister, Phoebe."

"Arranged or love match?"

"Love match," he said without shame.

There was a quiet moment between them before Hermione asked, "What happened to her?"

"I don't know. When I got out there wasn't anyone to ask. I was still a wanted wizard and the Greengrasses and Lovegoods were neutral and didn't support the Dark Lord." He looked back down at her and smiled, "Will you come downstairs to my study?"

"Of course," she said and they continued down the gallery and the staircase. Once in his study, he brought her to his father's portrait.

Randolph's eyes raked up her form before he smirked devilishly at her. "Barrister Granger," he greeted her like a colleague.

"Barrister Lestrange," she responded in turn.

Another voice, playful and chipper called through Randolph's portrait. "Granger? Did I hear the name Granger?" A figure stepped into the frame and looked down at her. Her smile matched his. "How are you, young lady?"

"Léon!" she said, excited to see him. "It's good to see you. I didn't realise you had a portrait."

He nodded. "I've got several, the oldest is here at Lestrange Estate in the formal drawing room. Had Rabastan put me there when I woke up, so to speak."

"It was a painting of the two of us together," Randolph elaborated.

"Rabastan tells me that you're fully qualified now. Congratulations. I'm sorry I wasn't able to take you all the way."

"I was upset with you for not telling me you were sick."

"Yes, well..." he just grinned. "But you're qualified now. Is the world of criminals keeping you busy?"

"All of it is keeping me busy. The mobile phone side business, the Lycanthropy Foundation. We had an incident there last month."

"I'd heard about that from my painting at St Mungo's."

"You're just everywhere, aren't you?" she teased. All four of them laughed.

Léon smiled. "I try to be. So, you know, if you've got any questions you can always come talk to us. Even Rabastan might remember how to handle a case."

Bass ducked his head and Hermione reached over to entwine their fingers together. She squeezed his hand to reassure him.

"I'm sure he'll do just fine," she said to the two painted figures. She watched Randolph's eyes slip down to their hands before he brought his gaze back up to Rabastan. Hermione wasn't sure if she was seeing things when he tilted his head the slightest bit and his lips twitched.

"It was good to see you, Léon, Lestr-"

"Randolph, please. I believe I've asked you to call me by name in the past."

Rabastan furrowed his brow and looked down at her. "Hermione?"

She turned her head and scratched her ear, hiding her glare at Randolph with her hair.

He just grinned. "Oh yes, she found the _1521-1525_ when we spoke last."

Hermione closed her eyes as she flushed from the top of her head to her ears and down below the collar of her blouse. Rabastan sniggered and Léon laughed outright. She couldn't help it and giggled as well. She sighed and shook her head, "And with that, we'll see you _boys_ later," she teased and turned back towards the door, hauling Rabastan by the hand and out of the room.

 *** . * . ***

 **Monday, 11 August 2003**

Ginny had a big game over the weekend and her family had gone to watch since it had been her birthday weekend. Hermione and Draco had been in the stands but had to step out early to spend the evening talking with the newest werewolf at the Foundation. He had been scared but knew what to expect come Tuesday and the full moon.

Hermione carried the gift boxes from her, Narcissa, and Draco in through the front door of Grimmauld Place.

"Can you see over those, love?" Cedrella asked from her portrait.

"Yes, thanks. Do you know where Ginny is in the house?"

"They're all downstairs, dear." Cedrella smiled and waved as Hermione headed down to the kitchen.

Before Hermione got to the bottom landing, she could hear voices from the kitchen. She heard the sound of frying and Ginny's laughter. She turned the corner and heard Ron say, "Oi! Who's behind the boxes," before she felt him take them from her. "What is all this?" he asked with a grin at her.

"Hey Ron. These are gifts for Ginny from me, Draco, and Draco's mum." She saw Ginny and Teddy sitting at the table, which was covered with a bright floral patterned tablecloth and bright green dishes. The rest of the kitchen also looked updated, with shiny stainless appliances and an overhead pan rack and new copper pans. The kitchen had been the last room they renovated and Hermione hadn't seen it since they'd finished. "Wow, you guys, it looks awesome in here."

"Aunt Hermione!" Teddy jumped up and ran around the table to hug her, his hair shifting from untamable turquoise to curly blue. She swooped down and picked him up when he got to her, hugging him tightly. "Hey Teddy," she said softly.

Ginny smiled, "Thanks. I really like the way it turned out. Though, there is absolutely no magic cooking on the new cooker."

"Sounds like you've had an accident," Hermione teased.

Harry chuckled from in front of the cooker. "One of those expensive accidents."

"Yeah, and trying to explain to the insurance company that the cooker was made wrong and just melted itself didn't go over too well."

They all laughed, even Teddy.

"So what's new, Hermione?" Ron asked as she put the little boy down. His hair turned shaggy and orange before he went to Ron who picked him up and set him on the corner of the table that didn't have dishes on it.

She shrugged. "I've been dating two men and I wanted Ginny's advice," she said with aplomb.

Ron raised his eyebrows at her. "Really? De we know both?" He asked with a laugh.

"One better still be Draco," Ginny said, "You've been with him for a year and a half and you haven't come see me crying with a broken heart."

"You're _still_ dating Malfoy?" Ron asked, sounding incredulous.

Harry cleared his throat before Ron's comment could derail Hermione. "Do you want us to guess?" He glanced over at her from the stir-fry he was sautéeing.

"You can," Hermione said.

"Draco, of course, and Rabastan Lestrange."

She tried to hide her surprise but couldn't stop the smile on her face and she looked down.

"Merlin, really? You've started dating Lestrange?" Ginny asked. Her tone held surprise but there was an undercurrent of enthusiasm too. Teddy was watching them like a tennis match, his hair flickering through the rainbow and his feet bounced in his shared excitement.

"Yes," Hermione answered. "I went out with Rabastan on Friday. How did you know, Harry?"

"Just an educated guess," he said, shrugging, though his tone suggested he had insider information. Hermione didn't doubt that he did, he was an excellent Auror. "You staying for dinner?"

She laughed. "None of you are worried or upset about me dating two men? Or who those men are?" She looked around at them.

They all shook their heads even Teddy. "As long as you're happy," Ron said.

"As long as you're happy, Aunt Hermione," Teddy echoed.


	30. Chapter 30

**Thursday, 11 September 2003**

Hermione had gone on two more dates with Rabastan alone. They'd gone out to a Muggle restaurant and to the theatre. Everything had been wonderful and Hermione had enjoyed herself immensely. Now, less than a week later, Draco had dragged her out of the office early to make her get dressed for another date. This one with both of them together. He had bought her a new dress, an ivory knee-length thing with lace on the chest but no sleeves. Before they'd even left the house he cast the spell to keep her feet comfortable.

They Apparated to the Leaky and were met with Rabastan in tailored trousers and a button front. "Hermione, Draco," he greeted them.

"Hey Bass," Hermione said, going to him to give him a hug and a kiss. He turned his head to kiss her lips when she'd gone for his cheek but didn't turn it into something longer. "Do you know where we're going tonight? Draco won't tell me."

"I have an idea," he said, wrapping his arm around her waist and guiding her back toward Draco. He let go of her as they walked through the pub but entwined their hands after they'd stepped out onto the Muggle side of the street. Draco grabbed her other hand and led them along.

They walked for about ten minutes before Draco slowed and turned her toward the entrance of the restaurant he'd first brought her to.

"Oh, are we dancing tonight?" She asked, an excited rush shooting up her spine.

"Yes," Draco answered as he opened the door, "Dinner and dancing for Bass's birthday."

"Draco," Rabastan whined his name, letting go of Hermione's hand to hold the door for her. "I—"

"How many?" the hostess, an older woman, said, talking over him.

"Reservations under the name Malfoy."

"Oh, yes, next to the dance floor. Right this way, sir," she said. Her eyes lingered on Rabastan and Hermione felt the urge to lay herself over him to mark her territory. She shook her head and did not follow through with making a spectacle of herself.

They sat and ordered, lighting on different topics, including Hermione's newest worry that the potioneer assistant from the Foundation may be looking into taking the Foundation, meaning both her and Draco, to the Wizengamot because he was savaged by a werewolf.

"He can't do that and you know it, Hermione," Draco reassured her. "Both mum, Maurier, and you wrote up the hiring contract. It's solid."

"I'd still like another eye to go over it. Would you, Rabastan?"

"Of course."

"How old are you today?" She asked, switching topics without transitioning. She plucked her napkin from her lap and set it on the table next to her dessert plate.

He narrowed his eyes and pretended to be mad but the colouring of his neck gave away his slight embarrassment. "Forty-three."

She smiled and stood, "Happy forty-third, Bass. Would you dance with me, birthday-boy?"

"I'd be delighted," he answered as he stood. He escorted her out to the dance floor and the jazz band started up a faster-paced number more suited for dancing. He spun her around the dance floor and had her laughing before they had even finished the first dance. The style of music changed to something more Spanish and he spun her once more but instead of bringing her back in, Draco caught her.

Her breath caught as he smirked.

"I don't know if I can tango in these shoes Draco," she murmured.

"You can, love," he said.

The three of them were the only ones dancing for the longest time, Hermione getting passed back and forth between the two. The sexual tension between them steadily rose, with wandering hands and moves that brushed their bodies together. This wasn't the same sort of carefree, fun dancing that she and Draco had shared before. This was a prelude to something more and Hermione was aroused and ready for whatever might come. When a song ended and the band set their instruments down for a break, Hermione found herself in Rabastan's arms. He leaned down and kissed her deeply, burrowing his hands into her hair. When Draco stepped close behind her and wrapped his arms around her waist she thought she might explode right there.

"Whore!" one of the other patrons of the restaurant shouted, shattering the moment. Hermione stiffened in their embrace.

Draco stepped back and Rabastan pulled away from her kiss. Rabastan looked down at her and smiled sadly before walking away, off the dance floor and toward the exit of the building.

"Bass, "she said, trailing after him a few steps.

"Tramp!" came the call again, "Take your filthy sinning ways out of public! This is a family establishment! Where's the manager, I demand a free meal!" The woman had an American accent and her voice sounded like nails on a chalkboard. Hermione saw Rabastan and an older gentleman heading back towards them and Hermione felt the tension in her chest lesson. She'd thought he'd left.

"I'm the manager. What seems to be the problem?" the gentleman asked the table of two.

"That harlot over there, slutting it up on the dance floor with two men. I've lost my appetite thanks to them. I don't think we should have to pay because of their disgusting act."

"Madam, they are paying customers, just as you, and they were enjoying dancing to the band."

"You don't mind that that hussy just trashes up the place? Fine, I'll take my business elsewhere," she stood and grabbed her large handbag. Her husband did not stand.

"Sit back down, Irene. They just got caught up in the—"

"You shut up," she snapped at him.

"Come on, let's get out of here," Draco murmured. He pulled out his wallet and flipped out a bunch of high denomination banknotes in clear view of the manager and the screeching American woman. The woman stopped mid-sentence and stared as Draco flipped out more than needed and walked up to the manager. "Thank you, sir. The food and the band were excellent, as always."

The gentleman took the money with a nod. "It was a pleasure having your business, Mr Malfoy."

Draco gave the woman a look like he smelt something foul in her direction before he strode back to Hermione and Rabastan. "Shall we go, loves?"

Hermione ducked her head not to grin and give the game away and Rabastan tucked her into his side with a hand on her waist as they all walked out of the door. Hermione was thankful she didn't bring a purse because going back to the table to get it would have ruined the dramatic exit.

Once outside, Rabastan just shook his head at Draco. "Too dramatic, Drake, Lucius would not approve."

"Bollocks," he disagreed, grinning widely. "What's the fun of having so much money if not to flaunt it every so often. I bet Father would have done something like that—or worse—if someone had insulted Mum like that." He turned and looked down at Hermione, wrapping his arm around her waist from the other side of Rabastan, tucking her in between them. "I apologise the crazy American insulted you. We don't have to come back to this restaurant again if you don't want."

"Now you're being overdramatic. Not coming back because one customer called me names?" Hermione shook her head, "No, I like the food, I love the dancing. We can come back. Did you notice, even her husband disagreed with her."

The two men shared a look over her head and then they strolled back toward the Leaky, all the built-up sexual tension having dispersed in the aftermath of the altercation.

 *** . * . ***

 **Saturday, 20 September 2003**

"Happy birthday, sweetie!" Mrs Weasley said, hugging Hermione tightly.

"Thank you, Mrs Weasley," she said, smiling and stepping back.

"Molly, dear, you're old enough to call me by my first name," she said. "Come in and sit down, it feels like forever since you stopped by. What's going on? How are you? How's your beau?"

"Mum!" George called, coming out of the kitchen holding a plate and two mugs of tea. He brought all of it to the coffee table to share with Hermione.

"What?" Molly asked.

Hermione just shook her head at George in exasperation. "There's absolutely nothing wrong with her curiosity, George."

"She's not being curious, she's being nosy. She wants to know if you're going to be bringing Malfoy for Christmas this year. You didn't last year so she doesn't know how serious you two are."

Arthur and Percy came down the stairs. "I thought I heard company," Arthur said. "How are you?"

"I'm wonderful," Hermione told him. She turned her attention back to Molly, who hadn't denied George's claim. "I didn't bring Draco to Christmas last year because that's one of the only days that Azkaban allows inmates visitors. He went with Narcissa to see his father."

Molly nodded and gestured to Percy to head into the kitchen to get the rest of the tea set. She sat in a chair nearby to continue her conversation with Hermione. "Oh, I bet that's emotionally draining. I suppose they'll be going again this year, then?"

"Probably, we haven't discussed it really."

Percy came back in and Arthur took a tea mug from the tray and sat further away. "So how is our birthday girl? Did you do anything fun yesterday?" Arthur asked.

"Draco and Rabastan took me to the theatre last night."

Percy glanced up from where he was rearranging the tea set. "What did you see?"

" _Chicago_."

Percy smiled but it was obvious he didn't know anything about the play.

Molly grinned and shared a look with Arthur while George turned to look at her with his eyebrows up near his hairline. "Wait, wait. Are you dating both of them?"

She smiled. "We're giving it a shot."

"You look happy, Hermione," Molly said, giving her a wicked little smile. "Finally partaking in the pleasures—"

All three men in the room raised shouts of dismay and alarm. "That's my cue to leave," Arthur said standing and heading out the door to tinker in his shed.

"I've got to head back home to Audrey. It was great seeing you, Hermione," Percy said as he stood and headed to the Floo.

George looked a little queasy but looked between his mum and Hermione. "I'm torn. Do I stay and see if she squirms while you talk sex or do I leave because I don't want to think of one of my little sisters having sex?" He made a face like he was contemplating the two choices before he shrugged and stood. "I think I'll go keep Dad company for a bit. Don't leave before telling me bye, though," he said.

"George, I see you once a week," Hermione said, laughing.

"Still!" He stepped around the couch and followed after Arthur.

When the door shut behind him, Hermione looked at Molly. "You did that on purpose, didn't you?"

"Of course!" She laughed, "Now, are you all being careful? Is this just a fling, sort of thing? Nostalgia? Or are you serious about a triad?"

Hermione didn't squirm like she expected. "Draco and I are committed. We've talked about our future and what we want. We've been dating for over a year and a half."

"No questions about sex with him, then?" Molly asked, care written in the lines of her face.

"It's not explosive all the time, if you know what I mean, but we've got an active sex life and we're satisfied with it."

"So you're not bringing Rabastan in because of something that's lacking or anything? You realise why I'm asking, don't you, Hermione? I'm not trying to pry. I just want you to be happy and adding a third is a big deal. I don't want you bringing him in because you think it will fix a problem you're already experiencing."

Hermione picked up her tea mug and sniffed it, unsure if George might have spiked it with a joke product. She didn't think he would.

"Here, let's get you a new mug, just in case George wanted an unwitting product-tester," Molly said, getting up to pour another mug of tea. She fixed it like Hermione liked and handed it to her.

"Thanks. I don't think there's anything missing or going wrong with my relationship with Draco and Rabastan has started therapy. He's been a bit... stunted in some ways—emotionally, I mean. Sometimes I forget he's not the same age as me and Draco."

Molly nodded. "Do you have any concerns about having both in your bed?"

Hermione narrowed her eyes in curiosity at Molly. "Did you have a naughty triadic affair when you were younger?" she teased.

Molly raised her nose up to try and look aloof, her chuckling detracted from the intent. "Arthur and I have invited someone to our bed, long ago before any of the kids were born. Ours was just a fling, just for the experience."

"Rabastan and I haven't actually had sex yet," Hermione answered but blushed when she heard what she'd said. "Since we've started dating, I mean."

"I know what you meant, dear. Are you having worries about that?"

Hermione thought for a moment before shaking her head and taking another sip of her tea. "No, actually. The attraction's there. I'm looking forward to it. The first time... the situation made fear the dominating emotion. All there is right now is anticipation."

Molly smiled and leaned back, sipping her own tea. "Good. Will you be bringing him to Christmas?"

Hermione laughed.

 *** . * . ***

 **Saturday, 11 October 2003**

Draco was out of the house for the evening visiting his Mum. Hermione had asked Rabastan to come over after another pleasant dinner in London. She had opened a bottle of wine and they were sitting on her sofa enjoying their second glass.

Rabastan hadn't stopped staring at her in the last few minutes and his heated gaze was doing wonderful things to her as she anticipated what he might be thinking. Would they finally settle the sexual tension that had been creeping into their every interaction of the last month?

Hermione closed her eyes and thought back to their picnic with Draco and how he'd fed her and how she'd offered him the same courtesy. She remembered the way his tongue had wrapped around her fingers and it sent tingles into her belly. The wine had heated her blood and just increased her slowly building arousal. When she opened her eyes, he was still staring. He wasn't taking advantage of her excited state, however, and Hermione had enough attention to focus on conversation as well as her plans to seduce him into her bed.

"Bass, why do you and Draco only take me to Muggle places on our dates?"

He must have realised he was staring because he turned his head and blinked before answering. "I was a Death Eater. I worry that if we go out to Wizarding places you'll get derogatory shouts and unwanted scoldings because of my past and your blood status."

"Any derogatory references to blood status can be fined by Aurors and I have no problem pulling a case like that to the front of my desk," she said. "We wouldn't get ridiculed for being a triad in the Wizarding world, though, would we? Not like when we went out for your birthday."

"We shouldn't," he said. He reached across the sofa and pulled her barefoot into his lap. His hand dragged up her calf and he let his fingers tickle at the back of her knee.

"I wasn't sure since I got that sort of ridicule when I was pregnant."

"You got it then because you were pregnant and unmarried. Just openly dating like we do in the Muggle world shouldn't bring the same criticism."

"I'm not promiscuous," she stated as if that had come into question during their conversation. Maybe she didn't have as much attention for conversation as she thought.

"No, you're not," he said, his fingertips slipping higher up her thigh. Her breathing caught for a second before she almost started panting. "You're in a committed relationship with Draco."

"I'm in a relationship with both of you," she said.

His gaze returned to her face and his stare was hungry. She'd never known a single look could cause her cunt to gush. She took a deep breath and told herself to take charge. She wanted him and she was going to have him this time. She pulled her leg from his touch and stood, turning to him and reaching for his hand.

He stood and took her hand in his. Without a word, she turned and led him down the hall to her bedroom. She pulled off one article of clothing after another, not caring where they landed. Naked, she crawled up on the bed and laid on her back, propping her head up on a pillow. She spread her legs and looked down at him. "Eat me out?"

His mouth fell open and his eyes never left hers as he grabbed the two sides of his button front and ripped it open, sending buttons scattering to every corner of the room. He stripped quickly, joining her on the bed as soon as he'd disrobed.

He didn't answer her but he brought his mouth to her cunt and proceeded to explore her with his tongue. He looked up at her and Hermione shivered as she saw his pale green eyes watching her over her mound. Her head tipped back and she moaned. He was so good at it. Why didn't she ever let him do this before?

"Yes, yes, Bass, please," she raked her hands through his hair and twitched as he sucked on her clit. He reached up and slid a finger into her, pressing up against her G-spot with rough little jerks. She shouted and fell apart at his ministrations. "My god," she muttered, shocked that her orgasm had come over her that quickly.

Rabastan crawled over her and kissed her fiercely. She tasted herself on his tongue and felt her wetness in his facial hair. She could feel his heavy erection laying on her thigh. "Fuck me, Bass, but I want to come again," she murmured.

He hummed and shifted, entering her smoothly with no hesitation. "Yessss," he hissed. "I want you so much, Hermione." He thrust into her, finding a slow and deep rhythm that Hermione met.

She enjoyed his slow pace but she wanted more. She growled and shifted under him. "Faster," she demanded.

He leaned back and looked into her eyes, smirking at her. He had to leverage himself up on his hands instead of his elbows and she wrapped her ankles around his thighs.

"As my mistress commands," he muttered into her ear before giving her what she wanted. He pounded deep into her and then shifted to reach down and press a thumb against her clit. The accuracy of the touch had her shivering under him and within moments she was swearing and coming around him, gushing again.

"Oh, fuck," he groaned as she clenched him. He didn't slow as she orgasmed, fucking her through it and coming moments later. His body shook as he orgasmed hard, twitching. He dropped back down to his elbows and slid his hands under her torso, holding her close as his body reeled. When it was over, he lowered himself enough to kiss her deeply and rocked his hips gently. He shifted to the side and Hermione whined when his cock left her. They panted and Rabastan pulled her into his arms to hold her while they caught their breath. Her body was sweaty but she enjoyed the heat of him surrounding her. "You are so beautiful," he murmured into her hair, "You are everything I want. Everything."

She smiled, feeling a bit dopey from the endorphins, and whispered back. "Love you too, Bass."

He gasped and turned her enough to look into her face. "Don't lie, please," he said, sounding extremely vulnerable. "Don't leave..."

"Shh," she said, putting her hand on his cheek and holding his eye contact. "I've got you. I'm not going anywhere." She kissed him and let him hold her as close as he could. After some time, Hermione was sure they had both dozed. She heard the front door open and close. It roused her and she shifted in Rabastan's tight grip.

"Draco's home," she whispered.

Rabastan nodded and squeezed her once more before letting go. He rolled away and they both got up and dressed. Hermione slipped into a satiny, short nightgown and watched as his eyes followed her every movement. He pulled his ruined shirt over his shoulders as Draco stepped into the doorway. He leaned against the door jam and watch them both. He smirked as he got a look at Rabastan's shirt.

"In a hurry?"

Rabastan glanced down and realised that most of the buttons of his shirt were gone. He chuckled. "I suppose I was."

"Want a late night cup of tea before you leave?" Draco asked.

Hermione frowned but Rabastan nodded. He pulled his wand from his pocket and repaired his shirt and then grabbed her hand to lead her back into the kitchen, following after Draco. She saw what Draco had on his way down the hall. Article after article of her clothing littered the floor. No wonder he'd assumed they'd been in a rush.

They settled at the table. The silence felt awkward and Hermione didn't like it. She made sure she didn't look away from Draco or Rabastan. Avoiding eye contact would make her feel like she'd done something that she should feel guilty for. What she'd shared with Rabastan was amazing and she didn't want it tainted with guilt.

Rabastan set down his teacup and looked at Draco. "Is she always dominant in the bedroom?"

Draco raised his eyebrows and looked to Hermione. He blinked and then looked back at Rabastan. He shook his head.

Hermione ducked her head then, embarrassed at her out of character behaviour. "Sorry, I just—"

"Don't apologise. I liked it."

She looked back up at Rabastan with shock on her face. Out of the corner of her eyes, she saw Draco's wide-eyed but interested look. The men shared a smirk before all three of them laughed, letting the tension fade. Rabastan left soon after that and Draco held her close to him when they retired for the night.

 *** . * . ***

 **Saturday, 25 October 2003**

Two weeks later, Rabastan was relaxing at Hermione and Draco's house. Rabastan had finally talked Draco into going rock climbing but the place they'd gone last time was closed due to rain. Draco had chuckled and said that his luck was holding. They had played two games of Scrabble and decimated almost two bottles of wine instead.

They'd called in takeaway earlier and Hermione was feeling languid and content squeezed between Rabastan and Draco on the sofa. She rubbed her sock-clad foot against Draco's leg and tried to wiggle her toes under him. He sighed and reached down, wrapping his fingers around her ankles and hoisting her feet into his lap. "We should buy another telly for rainy days like this," he said. He began massaging her feet.

When he lifted her legs Hermione's body slid down against Rabastan, leaving her head in his lap. She moaned at Draco's touch. Rabastan weaved his fingers into her hair and smiled down at her. She smirked back up at him and turned her head, nipping at his cock through his trousers. His fingers tightened in her hair and she did it again. "Hermione," he whined. She smiled and reached up to unfasten his trousers.

"Hey," Draco said, teasing. "Here I am being sweet and rubbing your feet and you're going to blow him?"

She giggled and sat up, grabbing Draco by the back of the neck and pulling him over her to kiss him. Rabastan pressed up on her shoulders to help her from falling over, but Draco moved over her until both of them were in his lap. Hermione turned from Draco to laugh.

"Bed," she said.

"Yes," Draco agreed, standing up and pulling her with him. He even reached a hand down to help Rabastan up. Hermione led the way into the bedroom and stripped as she headed to the bed. She crawled up on it and turned around to lay down.

"That's what she did last time," Rabastan said to Draco.

"Just that?" Draco asked.

"Eat me out, Bass," she demanded as she spread her legs.

"Oh," Draco said as Rabastan stripped and followed Hermione up onto the bed, pulling her closer so he could comfortably lick her pussy.

"Nnmph," Draco pouted. "Now what am I supposed to do?"

Hermione locked eyes with him and opened her mouth wide, then ran the tip of her tongue over her upper lip.

"I like that idea," Draco agreed, climbing on the bed once he was naked. He frowned and then straddled her chest. He leaned forward and grabbed the headboard and fed her his cock. She moaned when he was situated.

She wasn't the best at giving blowjobs and she was distracted by what Rabastan was doing but she gave it her best. If Draco's hissed breath and rocking hips were anything to go by, she was doing fine. Rabastan's fingers joined his mouth. Her orgasm took longer than last time, partly because she wasn't solely focused on what he was doing to her. She kept her gaze on Draco's face as she swirled her tongue and sucked as he moved over her.

Rabastan's ministrations set her off and she moaned loudly, even with Draco's cock in her mouth. Her moaning must have felt good because he moved deeper and slipped into her throat. She gagged and made a choking noise.

She heard a smack of flesh and Rabastan's mouth left her. "Get off of her, Drake, you're choking her."

Draco looked down and pulled himself from her. He shifted off of her and put his hand on her face before kissing her cheeks and her eyes. His lips came back wet from tears she hadn't known she'd shed. "Oh, love, I'm sorry."

"I'm okay, Drake," she said, kissing his lips.

He kissed her again, deeply. "As much as I love your mouth, I want to be inside your cunt," he said.

She hummed, she liked the little bit of dirty talk they engaged in. "Yes, please," she said. She expected him to just move over her but felt hands on her ankles and glanced down at Rabastan. She'd forgotten he was there for a moment. He tugged on her legs to get her to turn over so she complied. He ran his tongue up her back and she shivered at the touch. He laid over her and whispered in her ear.

"Do you think you'll be okay to suck me?"

"I'm fine, Bass," she said, grinning, "Now come up here and lay down so Draco can fuck me."

He nipped at her neck before doing as she said. He laid down across the bed and folded his arms under his head. She saw the scar from his Dark Mark and remembered thinking she'd never forget or forgive what he was. Yet she had forgiven him and she was glad of it. His smirk brought her back to the moment. She dragged her gaze from his delectable lips, down his chest and belly with it's sparse hair to his cock, proud and hard. She leaned forward and wrapped her hand around the base of it and her mouth around the tip as Draco moved around her to come into her from behind.

Draco he took his time with slow deep strokes. He laid over her and played with her breasts and clit. Hermione followed his lead and took her time while she sucked on Rabastan. He'd laid on his hands to stop from gripping her hair and perhaps to stop himself from fucking her face as Draco had inadvertently done. Draco's slow play was sweet but not enough to tip her over the edge and she wanted an orgasm.

She pulled up off of Rabastan and moaned when Draco pinched her nipples. "I want to come, Draco, please." She dropped her mouth back onto Rabastan's cock for a moment before pulling back and looking over at him. "And you, hand in my hair."

His cock twitched in her hand and he whispered, "Yes, mistress," before complying. He let his fingers tunnel into her hair and she return her mouth to him, moving faster and sucking harder. Draco's fingers moved to her clit and stroked her with more purpose. His strokes sped up and his angle changed, causing his foreskin to rub against her G-spot. It set off her orgasm and she closed her eyes to enjoy the flying feeling that came with it. "Hermi—" Rabastan said as he pulled at her hair.

She didn't back off soon enough and he pulsed and came in her mouth. She'd never had that happen before but she thought spitting it out would be rude so she sucked again and swallowed. The taste was bitter on her tongue and it left an odd flavour in the back of her throat but she didn't care. He opened his eyes and just stared at her in disbelief.

"Did she just—," Draco groaned, watching them, "Did she just swallow?"

Rabastan only nodded.

"Fuuuuuuck," Draco said as he orgasmed. It must have caught him off guard because he wasn't as deep inside of her as he usually was when he came; she felt him throb at her opening where she was more sensitive. She moaned, enjoying the sensation and revelling in the satisfaction that came with pleasing her partners. After a moment he slipped from her and collapsed beside her. He pulled her into him and spooned around her, both of them using Rabastan's thigh as a pillow.

"I want to cuddle too, get off," he mumbled. They shuffled around until they were all laying with their heads on the pillow and under the duvet. Draco was still spooned behind her and Rabastan had snuggled so close she didn't think there was a part of her body not touching one or the other of them. She felt Rabastan kiss her head before he laid his arm over her and Draco. Draco hummed in contentment and they fell asleep curled around one another.


	31. Chapter 31

**Tuesday, 28 October 2003**

Hermione had worked late and all she really wanted to do when she got home was to take one of Draco's headache-relief potions and unwind with a new book. She came in the door to hear Draco slamming cupboard doors in the kitchen. She sighed and hoped he wasn't angry at her for some reason. She wasn't in top form with a migraine and she couldn't think of anything she might have done.

She walked in to see Lorney and Limpet sitting on the counter chatting, Draco at the cooker angrily stirring a pot, and Rabastan propped against the table, frowning and holding a beer bottle. He was the first to notice her entrance. He looked up and the frown slipped from his face. "Evening, Hermione," he said before siping at his bottle.

"When'd we start buying beer? Lorney, is today your day off? I've lost track."

"It's Butterbeer," Rabastan answered, holding it out to her, she shook her head.

"Yes, miss," Lorney said. She hopped down and came towards her, "You're hurting."

Hermione nodded even though it made the throbbing worse.

"We're out of potion," Draco snarled and tossed something into the pot.

"What's going on?" she asked.

" _Rabastan_ ," Draco spat the other man's name, "is horny and showed up to fuck."

Hermione blinked. She highly doubted Rabastan had been that crass about it. She was quiet for a moment and she looked back and forth between the two men and the house-elves.

She bent down and whispered to Lorney. "If it's your day off why are you hanging about?"

Her large ears twitched and she turned to whisper back in Hermione's ear. "I didn't feel right leaving Master Draco alone while he was angry."

Hermione smiled down at her. "I'm here now if you and Limpet have plans."

"Thank you, Miss," Lorney said, she looked over at Limpet and there was a moment of communication between them before they both popped out of the kitchen.

"Where'd you send her?" Draco growled at her, glaring.

"It's her day off; I told her it was okay to go. So really, what's the problem, Drake? Bass?"

"Since we're in this together, I don't think we should be fucking in couples anymore. Bass disagrees."

Hermione sighed and came into the kitchen properly; she sat at the table and looked back and forth at them. "You said we were out of potion?"

"Yes, you used all our stock and Mum's spending a week in Milan for fashion week."

"Oh," she lowered her head to the table, "Okay."

Rabastan set his Butterbeer on the table and stood. Hermione could hear him as he walked around the table and behind her, pulling her back and brushing her hair over her shoulder so he could get at her neck and shoulders. She kept her eyes closed and groaned when his fingers immediately started easing the knots in her neck.

"Really? Already pouncing on her?" Draco accused, looking over his shoulder at them.

"Draco," she whined, not sure how to fix the problem.

"What?"

"Your dinner smells lovely."

He was quiet a moment like he didn't understand her angle but finally muttered, "Thanks."

"Did you really show up for sex, Bass?" she asked, still with her eyes closed.

"I..." he started but didn't finish the thought. "Maybe."

"Then why didn't you two get on with it?"

"What?" Draco asked, sounding shocked.

"Are we not a triad?"

Rabastan's hands fell away from her and she opened her eyes to look back at him. "Umm, well..."

"You know what? Fuck this," Draco said, throwing the spoon he had been stirring the food with towards the wall and Disapparating out with a loud _CRACK_. A picture frame crashed to the floor where the spoon had hit and both crashed to the floor.

Hermione blinked slowly, not sure what just happened. She slid her chair back and stood, going to the cooker first to look down at the dish Draco had been preparing. It smelled delicious and she closed her eyes to savour the spices he'd used. It was one of her favourite meals. Rabastan had moved over to pick up the spoon and the frame. He brought both back to the cooker. Hermione took the spoon from him and washed it in the sink. He just continued to stare down at the picture in his hands.

When he looked back up at her his smile was sad. "I wasn't sure you kept it," he said.

She looked at him with confusion, "Kept what?"

He set the picture frame on the counter facing her. In one side of the frame was the bookmark he had painted for her years ago. She smiled at it and then back up at him. "I should probably go," he said, looking away from her. "I shouldn't be here when he comes home."

"Bass, what happened?"

"It doesn't matter." He leaned forward and kissed her on the cheek before Disapparating out of her living room.

She looked back at the pan and the amount of food Draco had cooked. "I suppose I'll have leftovers," she muttered to herself.

 *** . * . ***

 **Wednesday, 29 October 2003**

Draco didn't come home.

Hermione worried but figured he'd gone back to the Manor or his mother's cottage in Brighton. She had trouble sleeping because she wasn't used to sleeping alone. The next day, she cut out early from work because she was tired from not sleeping well and her tension migraine had worsened. She couldn't concentrate.

The house was empty and Hermione waited in the kitchen for Draco to come home. By nine-thirty she decided to fire-call the cottage. She knelt in front of the fireplace, tossed in some Floo powder and called Draco's name and Malfoy Cottage. Nothing happened. The fire didn't turn green. She frowned, trying to remember the reason that would happen. Most families with an open Floo connection kept at least coals in the fireplace in case of incoming calls.

Draco had said that his mum was out of town. That would explain if the Floo connection fireplace was cold. Hermione tossed in a second pinch and called his name and Malfoy Manor. Again, nothing happened.

She did it once more and called for Rabastan at Lestrange Estate. The fire turned green. She closed her eyes and put her face in the green flames. The odd spinning feeling subsided and she opened her eyes to look out into the dark parlour. "Bass? Are you there?"

She heard footsteps and saw him approach. He knelt. "You're upset," he said, looking into her eyes, "What's wrong?"

"Draco didn't come home last night and he's still gone."

He frowned. "Have you tried the Manor?"

"I tried fire-calling both the Manor and his mum's cottage."

"What do you need from me, Hermione? Do you want me to Apparate to the Manor to see if he's there and just avoiding you?"

"Will you come over and hold me? I'm so worried and my migraine is worse and—"

"You've still got the headache from yesterday?"

"Yes."

"Did you work today too?"

"Yes."

"Back up then, I'll come through."

"Thanks, Bass."

She closed her eyes and pulled away. The spinning feeling wasn't even gone before the sound of the Floo flared. Rabastan bent down and gathered her up in his arms. He kissed her on the forehead and walked back to her room.

"Have you eaten dinner?" he whispered.

"No, I haven't eaten much all day. Between the nausea from the migraine and worrying about Draco I haven't had much appetite."

"All right," he said. He stripped her down to her knickers and pulled a nightshirt down over her, then tucked her in the bed. He must have whispered an elf's name because Hermione heard the quietest _pop_.

She must have dozed because the next thing she knew, Bass was nudging her and the smell of chicken broth was strong. Her stomach clenched with hunger. "Hermione," he whispered. "I don't have any potion for your migraine, but I've got food. Do you think you can eat?"

She cracked her eyes at him and gave a little nod.

"Do you want me to feed you?"

"I can do it," she mumbled. She got about halfway through it before setting the spoon down.

"Bass?"

"I'm here." He picked up the tray from her lap and set it on her vanity table. Then he undressed down to his trousers and slipped into the bed next to her. He snuggled up close to her and held her.

Her alarm woke them up in the morning. She jerked and almost panicked in her sleep-addled state. She was used to Draco starfishing in the middle of the night. When she remembered that Rabastan was holding her, not Draco, she relaxed a little. "I need to get up, Bass," she murmured.

"Do you still have a migraine?"

She nodded slowly.

"Do you have clients you need to see today?"

"I don't think so."

"You're staying home then."

"No, Bass, I can't—"

"You can. I'll take care things, I promise." He kissed her forehead and pulled away; getting up and dressed.

Despite feeling guilty for not going to work, she was asleep before he'd left the house. Limpet and Dorna brought her a light breakfast when she woke up a few hours later. She slept on an off the rest of the day and woke around four to another light meal from concerned house-elves. She got out of the bed and dressed in lounge clothes. Dorna was waiting for her with her hands on her hips when she came out of the bathroom.

"Mistress still hurting?" she asked.

"It's eased now, Dorna. Now it just feels like a bad hangover."

"You need a big plate of meat, then. I'll let Limpet know."

"Dorna?" she asked before the elf Disapparated.

"Yes, Mistress?"

"Not that I'm not absolutely grateful to you and Limpet, but where's Lorney?"

Dorna made a face and her ears came forward, she looked angry. "Lorney is Mr Malfoy's elf."

"He's left me then?"

"Dorna doesn't know, Mistress," she answered and then disappeared. Hermione sighed and walked out of the bedroom to head to the kitchen.

"Hermione!"

She startled and winced before turning towards the source of the noise. Draco was standing at the front door and he looked angry.

"I don't appreciate getting an entire parliament of owls at work asking where I am!"

"What?" she asked, confused.

"Just because I didn't want to deal with Bass two days ago doesn't give you the right to bombard me with post!"

"Draco, I don't know what—"

"Draco!" Rabastan's voice was demanding and rumbled over both of them. They looked at the hall where he was standing having just stepped out of her study. "I sent the owls. Don't yell at her; she's not feeling well."

"Why?" Draco asked. "What was the point of pestering me like that?"

"We were worried."

"That's it? You were worried? Why were you even—"

"Please, stop!" Hermione shouted and winced again.

Draco looked back at her, worried and upset. "What's wrong?"

"She's had a migraine for three days. I've been at her office doing background work so she could rest. And you come in here shouting and upsetting her; why are you even here?"

"You sent me a fucking parliament of owls, wanker!" He shouted again.

Hermione tipped her head back and shouted over them again, "Will you two just fuck and get it over with?"

"What?" they both looked at her. "What does that have to do with anything?" Rabastan asked.

She looked back and forth between them. "This morning after breakfast I had trouble falling back asleep. I did some thinking about what happened last night. Draco was upset because he assumed you came over for sex with me. And you won't be honest about having sex with him. You two have fucked before, what's different now?"

"You," they both answered.

She blinked at them. "I'm the difference? What?" Rabastan looked down and frowned. Draco looked away.

Finally, Draco looked back up and answered her. "He hasn't wanted sex with anyone but you since he had you after the end of the war."

"Where did you come up with that?" Rabastan asked, moving towards him. "You never said anything since then at any of your visits. You talked about all the people you dated. You seemed happy with others. I thought what we had before the war was just desperation!"

"What?" Draco looked flabbergasted. "I wouldn't have just slept with you out of desperation, Bass, I thought you knew that. I enjoyed our time together, but..."

"But what?"

"You were just so depressed after... after..."

When Draco couldn't find the words Hermione realised something she hadn't thought of before. Her miscarriage hadn't only affected her and Rabastan. By then, Draco had been a part of their lives for a month too. "Say it Draco," Hermione whispered, knowing from her time in therapy that sometimes emotions needed to be talked about.

The skin around his eyes crinkled and he looked like he was about to cry. "After she lost the baby and left, Bass, you just... You didn't... You were different and I—I didn't know what to do."

Hermione and Rabastan converged on Draco at the same time and wrapped their arms around him. "Oh, Draco," she whispered. He buried his head in Rabastan's shoulder but wrapped his arm tight around Hermione and didn't let go. He shook in their arms and didn't come up for air for a long time.

Rabastan kissed his head. "Are we okay now, Drake?"

Draco nodded and pulled back to wipe his eyes. Rabastan leaned down and initiated a long, deliberately slow and intense kiss between them.

A little cough from the kitchen broke them apart. "If Masters be done now," Limpet said, with Lorney and Dorna standing on either side of her, "Then Mistress needs to eat something before you takes her off for ravishing."

Hermione buried her head against Draco's arm and giggled, relieved that things were going to be okay between them all.

 *** . * . ***

 **Thursday, 25 December 2003**

Rabastan kissed her on the cheek. "Send me your Patronus and I'll meet you at the Weasley's. You're not mad at me are you?"

She rolled her eyes at him. "Of course not. I don't blame you at all. Just make sure you've got my little bag of gifts since I can't take it with me."

"Yes, mistress," he murmured, nibbling her earlobe. She shivered and Draco saw it.

"Not now," he grumped as he straightened his robes for the fourth time, smoothing imaginary wrinkles.

She turned his way and thought about teasing him but knew he was anxious and wouldn't take it in the playful way she would mean it. "You're okay, Drake," she said instead, entwining their fingers. He nodded but she could see the tension in his shoulders.

"Tell Narcissa I said hello," Rabastan told them.

Hermione squeezed Draco's hands and then let go and stepped through the Floo into the Ministry. Narcissa and a handful of other people were gathered around the fireplaces. Draco followed and grabbed her hand and led her over to where Narcissa was standing.

"Hello darling," she said, standing up on her toes to kiss Draco's cheek and then bent her knees to wrap one arm around Hermione in a hug.

"Is that everyone now?" the Ministry official nearby asked the group. When there were nods all around he produced a long string. "Everybody take hold now. There won't be another Portkey to Azkaban if you miss this one." Hermione, Narcissa, and Draco made sure to hold tight to their portion of the string. When everyone in the group was holding the string, the official activated the Portkey. Hermione felt the hooking sensation around her navel and closed her eyes quickly to not get sick. They landed roughly in a small stone room.

"Is this everyone?" another voice asked. Hermione recognised it and opened her eyes to see Harry and Ron in their Auror uniforms. Harry nodded his head at Hermione in acknowledgement but didn't openly greet her. The Ministry official answered and then found a seat to settle and wait to take everyone back to the Ministry when the visitations were over.

Ron coughed to get the attention of the quiet group of people. "We've got four visiting rooms set up and the prisoners in them are ready for you. Carrow, Flint, Malfoy, and Montague are first. I'll take the first two groups and Auror Potter will take the second two."

Hermione recognised Hestia and Flora Carrow and Marcus Flint as they gathered near Ron to see their imprisoned family members.

Draco reached down and grabbed her hand and gently pulled her forward with him. Graham Montague from school joined the three of them next to Harry.

"Harry?" Hermione asked.

He grinned and tilted his head. "Drew the rotation for it this year, that's all."

"You'll be at the Burrow, later though?"

"Of course. Just a bit after you is all. Ready?" he asked all four of them. He turned and opened a heavy metal door. They followed along the dark and damp stone hallway until they came to another metal door. He peeked in the little window at eye level and turned to look at them. "Montague, this one's yours. You've got fifteen minutes." He opened the door and Graham stepped in. Harry let the door shut behind him.

Hermione wondered about protocols for violent prisoners and visitors but figured it probably wouldn't be a problem since they were only visiting family. Harry led them down the hall to another door and opened it for them. Narcissa stepped through first and Draco put his hands on Hermione's waist to guide her in ahead of him.

"Thanks, Potter," she heard Draco say.

Lucius's hair was the first thing Hermione noticed. It was limp and had been hacked off at his shoulders. He had deep, purple bags under his eyes and his eyes themselves were red and bloodshot. "Cissy," he whispered as the door shut. Hermione could see the instant he realised it wasn't just family in the room because he sat up straighter and his eyes seemed to shutter.

"Hello Lucius, my love," Narcissa said, ignoring his stiff posture. She stepped up to the table and sat down, reaching for and clasping his hand in hers.

"Father," Draco said in greeting.

"Draco," he said, pausing before adding, "Miss Granger."

"Hello, Mr Malfoy." A muscle in his temple twitched. "I don't want you to be uncomfortable, sir, I just wanted to tell you that Severus Snape wanted me to tell you goodbye."

"Severus died."

"Yes, and his portrait existed from his death until August of 2001. His last request of me was to tell his closest friends goodbye."

Lucius half smiled and looked down at his hand holding Narcissa.

"I'll leave you three alone now," Hermione said and moved out of Draco's hold to knock on the door.

"Miss Granger—" he called and she turned back around. "I... I wanted to thank you." She felt her brow furrow but he continued. "Thank you for making my son happy and for accepting him and Narcissa into your life. I feared they'd be alone or become recluses but you've... you've done a great service to them and I am in your debt."

"I don't want to be indebted to you, sir, I just want them to be happy too."

He smiled but it looked full of anguish, he nodded, but then looked back to his wife. Draco wrapped his arms around Hermione and squeezed tight before stepping around her to speak with his father in hushed voices.

Fifteen minutes felt both too long and too short when Harry opened the door and retrieved them. As they passed back by Montague's room, she heard a deep, hacking cough come out of the room. Hermione stepped back to whisper at Harry. "Is he sick?"

He answered her in an equally low voice, but there was a low running tone of anger as well. "The conditions here are still horrible. No one wants to do anything because they think it would make them seem too lenient."

"Why hasn't anyone told me?"

He gave her a crooked little sad smile. "You're championing for so many these days..."

"I can add one more case. The punishment of keeping them out of society isn't effective if they die in custody from mistreatment."

"I have no doubt you'll get things in the Wizengamot stirred up just as soon as you can."

"You bet I will," she said. She moved forward and grabbed Draco's hand as they met back up in the tiny entrance room. They had to wait for another fifteen minutes for the last four groups to see their families before the Ministry official did a head count and announced that it was time to go back to the Ministry. They grabbed ahold of the Portkey and returned to the atrium.

Hermione turned to Narcissa. "Do you have plans for the rest of the day?" she asked.

She shook her head. "No, I was just going to go home and brew, really."

"Why don't you join us at the Burrow?"

"I—" she stuttered, shocked at the invitation. "I couldn't."

"Please, I'd hate to know we're all gathering for Christmas and you're alone in a potions lab."

There was a pause before she smiled and looked up at her son then back to Hermione. "If you're sure it won't be an inconvenience."

"Of course it's not. Let me send Bass a Patronus and we can all Floo or Apparate straight there." She turned and pulled her wand and concentrated. " _Expecto Patronum_!" she said, opening her eyes to see her familiar animal form. Her otter danced around her as she infused the Patronus with her message. She cast it a second time and informed Molly that she would be bringing an extra guest.

When they were sent, she turned and asked, "Floo or Apparate?"

"Apparate," Draco answered for his mother. "I'll take her Side-Along."

Hermione nodded. "Okay, then." She watched as Draco tucked his mother's arm into his and Side-Along Apparated them both with a soft _pop_. She followed. Her Apparating reference point was different than theirs and she heard little Teddy shout her name with excitement before she spotted Draco and Narcissa slip around the corner of the house. Hermione stooped and swung Teddy up in her arms and hugged him tightly. "How is my little Teddy? Is your grandmother here?"

"Yep," he said, nodding.

"Yes," she heard a low, feminine voice correct him. Andromeda had stepped close and smiled at her grandson.

"Yes," Teddy repeated before rolling his eyes.

Hermione looked up to see Narcissa and Draco just staring at Andromeda standing next to her. "Hello Cissy," Andromeda said and smiled at her sister.

Her sincere smile broke the tension and Narcissa put her hand over her heart. "It's been so long, Andy."

"And I look like _her_. I know," she agreed. "Now, come, we've got a lot to catch up on and Molly's been pestering me about some of the things we got up to when we were all at Hogwarts."

A giggle slipped from Narcissa that even had Draco raising his eyes at the back of his mum. Teddy laid his head on her shoulder and shifted his hair to Draco's pale blond. Draco's eyes widened at the image they made.

"And who is this young man taking up our witch's attention?" Rabastan said from behind them. Out of the corner of her eye, she saw Teddy sit up and look at Rabastan, his hair turning a deep auburn. Hermione heard Rabastan's quiet inhale at the colour like a perfect mix between them.

"I'm Teddy," the little boy said. He started wiggling in Hermione's grasp and she set him down. "Oh, Aunt Hermione, you've got to come see!" he said, grabbing her hand and tugging. "Aunt Ginny's going to have a baby!"

Hermione was shocked as she was dragged into the house, her wizards following behind. Ginny must have heard the declaration and looked up. Teddy's hair was still auburn and Ginny's eyes went wide. "Oh, I'm so sorry, Hermione! I didn't—Teddy, please, honey can you—"

"He's fine, Ginny," she said, smiling. She looked back over her shoulder at Rabastan and Draco, both smiling at her and the sweet little boy. "We're good."

"Well, maybe you can make introductions. I haven't actually met..." Ginny said, gesturing toward Rabastan.

"Yes, I suppose I should, shouldn't I?" she said, smiling.


	32. Chapter 32

**Saturday, 14 February 2004**

The last month and a half had been busy. Hermione had practically demanded Rabastan to join her at the office when she started compiling data and reaching out to families of people in Azkaban and former inmates. She wouldn't be able to put it before the Wizengamot for another three months, unfortunately, but she was able to get a healer to the prison for Montague. She counted that as a small win towards her lifetime goals of equal rights and protections for everyone.

There had been a setback in the last week of January. One of the families that she had reached out to was good friends with Algernon Macmillan, Neville's great uncle. When Hermione was greeting them in the foyer of her firm, Rabastan stepped out of his new office to speak with their newest secretary. The family had stared wide-eyed at him and then turned to look at Hermione before freaking out and accusing Hermione of being a Death Eater apologist and even though they had had a family member in Azkaban several years back who had died from neglect they wouldn't have anything to do with the likes of her because of her association with Death Eater scum.

Hermione's relationships with both Draco and Rabastan were plastered across the front of the Daily Prophet the following day. They were even gossiped about in Witch Weekly and the work they'd done for werewolves were called into question in several Potions Periodicals.

Hermione had been spitting mad and wanted to bring charges to all of them but Rabastan had dragged her to the Estate and to have a long talk with his father and Léon. They'd talked her down from her rash action and told her in no uncertain terms that kicking up a fuss about the accusations and criticism would just make it worse.

"Own it," Randolph had said. "You _are_ involved with two former Death Eaters and there's nothing to be done about it unless you want your love life dictated by the media."

So in an act of spite and retaliation, Hermione had asked to start going on dates in Wizarding communities. Draco and Rabastan had shared a look and nodded. Now, Hermione wasn't sure. She was dressed in a lovely black sequined dress with no knickers and entirely too tall heels for dancing—all of which had been a part of her Valentine's gift this morning. She'd been swept off by a Portkey to a spa where she'd spent two hours being treated like royalty as she was primped and massaged from the top of her head to her toes.

She was frustrated, though, because she couldn't find her abalone necklace and the dress's neckline was low. She wanted a piece of jewellery to distract from the bit of cleavage that showed. "Lorney?"

The elf _popped_ into the space and said, "Yes?" She seemed to bite her lips dramatically right after the word.

"Have you seen my abalone necklace? I always put it right back here in my jewellery box."

"I believe Master Draco sent it to be cleaned."

"Oh, okay. Thank you," she said, dismissing the elf with a wave.

Lorney disappeared. Hermione sighed and glanced in the mirror. She felt like a princess after such an amazing day though she had missed her wizards. Even now, she had only been given notes about the dress, spa treatment, and where to meet them for dinner. A quick glance at the clock showed that she probably should be going now unless she wanted to be late.

She locked up the house and Apparated from her garden arbour. She walked into the upscale Wizarding establishment. Her shoulders were back and her head was raised with confidence. No one was going to ruin her Valentine's. Rabastan and Draco were both standing in the foyer waiting for her. Rabastan smiled and greeted her with a kiss on the cheek first and Draco pulled her close before kissing her lips.

"You look breathtaking," Draco said, his eyes lingering on her bare décolletage.

"Thank you," she answered. She was about to repay the compliment when the host came over and greeted them.

"I have your table, Messieurs, Mademoiselle." He gestured off to the side and Draco escorted Hermione behind the man to their table. It wasn't secluded but it did give the impression of privacy. Draco pulled her chair and she sat.

The illusion of privacy was shattered moments later when they heard "Death Eater whore! Did you bribe them with sex to protect you during the war?"

Hermione stiffened and took a long, deep inhale.

"Ignore it," Draco muttered. She nodded and swallowed, exhaling before glancing over the menu.

The shouting continued but in a different way. "What? What do you mean you're here to escort me out? I'm not—No, I'm—No, no, you don't need to call the Aurors. I'm leaving! I'm leaving, see, I'm leaving. Don't want to eat here with that scum anyway. Hey, hey, put that away, I didn't—" and his voice suddenly changed into a loud bray of a donkey.

They could just make out the voice of the host, "You are hereby banned from this establishment." There was a pause and he added, "And no, I won't cancel the jinx. You'll have to go to St Mungo's for that."

The bray of the donkey-headed wizard could be heard as he was taken off the property.

Hermione ducked her head and grinned, trying not to snigger. Draco didn't bother covering his chuckle and smile. "How much did you pay the management, Draco?" she asked looking up at him.

"I didn't. The manager's sister is a werewolf and her quality of life has changed dramatically thanks to your advocacy."

She smiled. "So what are you going to order?" she asked both of them, glancing from Draco to Rabastan.

They mentioned something offhand but didn't take their eyes off her. Draco lowered his pitch and whispered to her, but loud enough for Rabastan to hear him as well, "I think your outfit's missing something."

She narrowed her eyes at him in a playful fake glare. "I'm wearing everything that you left me."

Rabastan set something down on the table and slid it towards her. "I think this might be what's missing."

The box he pushed towards her was shallow, rectangular, and covered in velvet. It had to be a jewellery box. It was large, though, larger than just a ring or a bracelet. Her breath caught in her throat as she pulled it closer to her. She glanced up and made eye contact with Rabastan and then Draco before looking down at the box and opening it. Inside were three pieces of jewellery she'd seen before.

There was a pendant necklace with a vertical rectangle of black onyx, platinum vines and diamond leaves. There was a set of pearl and diamond earrings, set in platinum. And a platinum bracelet with onyx, diamonds, and pearls.

Hermione felt like her heart was going to beat out of her chest. She tried to swallow her nerves and she looked up to see them both staring at her. Draco looked confident and cool but Rabastan looked nervous and vulnerable. She didn't like the disparity between them so she turned to Draco. "Are you asking me something here?" she asked with as much sass in her voice as she could muster.

His cocky facade broke and she saw him swallow thickly.

Rabastan was the one who asked, "Will you be our wife, Hermione?"

She raised a brow at Draco; she remembered he had once said that he had learned his lesson with half-arsed proposals.

"Hermione Jean Granger, you are the most amazing, brilliant, enchanting, vibrant woman I've ever met. I love you; Bass loves you. Please do us the honour of becoming our wife," he said after a moment.

She couldn't find the words to answer him but she felt tears start to fill her eyes as she stared back at Draco.

Rabastan cleared his throat quietly and she looked at him to see him straightening his place settings; his hands were trembling. "If you don't want to marry me but do want to marry Draco," he said softly, "I'll understand."

"Oh, Bass," she whispered, "I'm just overwhelmed. Yes, I want to marry both of you."

Draco released the breath he must have been holding and smiled as brightly as she'd ever seen. He tipped his head back as excitement and nervous energy left him in a bubble of laughter. "She said yes!" He shouted, doing a little dance in his chair and making a fool of himself in his happiness. Both she and Rabastan chuckled at his exuberance. Patrons and staff all around the restaurant started clapping and wolf whistling at his exclamation and Hermione laughed outright at the reaction around them.

She gestured down at the box of beautiful jewellery in front of her, "Which piece goes on first?"

 *** . * . ***

 **Saturday, 21 July 2012** _(Epilogue) **  
**_

Hermione sat on a cushion in the middle of the garden and leaned back into Rabastan's arms. His hands rubbed slowly and gently over the soft stretchy cotton of her dress over her pregnant belly. With this pregnancy, the baby hadn't been moving as much until recently and he was excited to feel as many kicks and turns as the little girl inside Hermione was willing to give him. He rarely let go of her these days.

She felt him snuggle his bearded face into her neck and she shivered at the tickle. "Why don't we leave Draco to chase after the others and disappear behind the bushes over there," he murmured into her ear.

"He's already chasing them," she said as she looked out at Draco playing a modified game of broom-mounted tag with their three children, "and you know as soon as we are out of eyesight they'll be all about finding Mummy and Papa. You won't even be able to get my dress off before we're found."

He rocked his hips against her. "I don't need to take your dress off," he whispered.

She couldn't stop the shiver of arousal that coursed through her at his words and actions. "Later, Bass," she hummed.

"I will have you soon, witch," he said, grinning against the skin of her neck.

"I hope you do."

"Sebastian!" Draco shouted as their seven-year-old came barrelling towards her and Rabastan.

Bass stood quickly and caught their little boy before he could slam his runaway broom into his heavily pregnant mum. "Gotcha!" Bass said, tickling him. Sebastian squealed and wiggled in his father's hold, twisting and spinning until he was upside down. His laughter made Hermione's heart soar with happiness.

"Scorp!" Draco said in exasperation as their youngest, three-year-old Scorpius tumbled off of his broom and came running towards Hermione. He was still small enough that he didn't hurt her when he launched himself at her but his weight did knock her off balance. She let gravity take her and she sank back onto the warm cushion Bass had been sitting on and started tickling the little boy.

"Well, come on Astra, might as well join Sebastian and tackle Papa." Instead, the little girl flew close to Hermione and dismounted as only a six-year-old little princess could. She walked over to Hermione and sat down beside her and laid her hand on Hermione's bulging belly.

"Is baby Freya kicking, Mummy?"

Hermione disengaged one of her tickling hands from Scorpius to move Astra's hand to where Freya had kicked Rabastan's hand less than a minute ago. Astra giggled when she felt the fluttering under her hand. She got up and ran back to Draco to grab his hand and bring him to feel Hermione's belly. Astra put her hand back in the same spot and Draco placed his hand over hers. "All right, Hermione?" She bounced her eyebrows at him and he smirked. "Should I send the children to play with Potter's three?"

Astra squealed, "Albus!" and the adults laughed.

Rabastan had settled Sebastian down onto his feet by then. The little boy pouted, "I don't want to."

"What's wrong, sweetheart?"

"James always wants to play pranks and I don't want to."

"Ah," Hermione said, nodding in understanding. She knew eight-year-old James was a handful and a half. "You can tell him you don't want to, Sebastian. He'll still be your friend if you say no."

"Really?"

"Really," Rabastan answered. "If something feels wrong here," he tapped the little boy's temple, "or here," and he tapped his chest, "then don't do it. Follow your head and your heart. Use that wonderful logic and judgement you got from your mum."

"Kay," he said, nodding.

Draco opened his mouth to correct the slang but Rabastan just shook his head slightly.

"So can we go see Albus?" Astra asked as she snuggled back into Draco's arms.

Draco caught Hermione's eyes and then Rabastan's. "I'll fire-call them. Come on, Astra. Scorp, come to Daddy?" he asked. The youngest wiggled out of Hermione's grip and charged at him. He stooped to scoop up both Scorpius and Astra into his arms. "Getting too big, baby girl," he muttered. "Come on Sebastian, let Papa help Mummy up." Draco headed toward the house and Sebastian followed.

Rabastan offered his hand and he helped her sit up. She followed their family with her eyes as they passed the ivy-covered wall on the way back inside the Estate. He tugged her hand and helped her stand. He wrapped his arms around her and kissed her, distracting her completely. When he pulled back he smirked at her. "Do you think Draco would be too upset if we got started without him?"

 _Fin_

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A/N: So I decided to post the last nine chapters all in one day. Happy Christmas!


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